Running
by AmethystWren
Summary: "An alliance has already been forged, whether you know it or not." It's the 50th Hunger Games, and Maysilee really doesn't want to be in her current situation. She can run, she can 'disguise herself as a mud monster', but that's the extent of her talents. The story of the Merchant's girl who impacted Haymitch, Madge and the 74th Games so much without ever realising.
1. The Reaping

**I know the 2nd Quell has been done before, but I felt the need to do my own. Hopefully it's still good!**

**Disclaimer- I do not own the Hunger Games or any characters, situations or dialogue you might recognise from it. Credits for those go to Suzanne Collins.**

* * *

My hand sneaks toward the bowl of candy-pink boiled sweets on the counter.

Another hand smacks mine before it has chance to reach it.

I pull my own hand back and caress it gently.

"Maysilee!" My father scolds. "Unless you're going to _pay_ for those, you can't eat them!"

"I helped set up the display." I grumble, nodding in the direction of the window. It's true; I pinned up three of the candy-canes in the border to the wall before Mum realised having me near my sister Macy with a box of sharp pins wasn't her best idea and took over from me.

"Mm," Dad thought for a moment, and I mentally crossed my fingers. "_No_."

"But it's Reaping day!" I insist. "What if I go to the Capitol? _Then_ you'll feel bad."

"I'm sure I'll manage." Dad says, though his voice sounds a little doubtful; the terms for this year's Quarter Quell were broadcast on TV last night; twice the number of tributes from each district.

"You're despicable." I tell him, sticking my tongue out at him rudely.

The bell rings as a customer enters. It's Anise, the daughter of the pharmacists who work in the apothecary. She's also my best friend.

"Hello, Mr. Donner." She says brightly, blonde hair plaited into two braids. She looks at me. "Mays, you're not even dressed!"

"I'm trying to get sweets out of Daddy." I tell her innocently, punctuating the end of my sentence with a glare in my father's direction. He sticks his tongue out at me.

"Well," She bounces up to the counter and pulls a few coins out of her little pink purse. "I'd like to buy some humbugs please, Mr. Donner."

He takes the coins from her and grabs a paper bag from the shelf behind his head, filling it with humbugs from the humbug jar and handing it to her.

"Thanks," Anise beams, holding the bag out to me. I take three sweets from it and shoot Dad a wry smile.

He rolls his eyes, but he's smiling, so I don't think I'm in _too_ much trouble.

"Go and get dressed." He scolds, still smiling, so that I know he's not genuinely angry. "_Honestly_, stealing sweets from customers."

"I'll come and meet you at yours." I tell Anise, who nods and heads out.

I head into our home, which is behind the shop, and find my twin sister Macy. She's in our shared bedroom, already dressed in a black-and-yellow dress that reminds me of a bumblebee. I don't like bumblebees. When I was little, one chased me all around the playground at school. Anise thought it was hilarious. Sometimes I really wonder why we're friends.

Macy is trying to sort her hair out for the Reaping. When she sees me, she shakes her head.

"Mays, honestly, you're not even dressed!" She scolds.

I ignore her and fling the wardrobe open, pulling out the first dress that come to hand- a red and black striped one, like a ladybird.

I change from my pyjamas into this dress and leave Macy to her hair-styling; I've always found it boring. Instead, I creep up to my canary, who sits in a cage in the corner of the room, watching me curiously.

"Hello, Melody," I say brightly. "How are you today?"

She lets out a high-pitched note in response. I grin at her and grab my brush from the dressing table, raking it through my hair.

Before I have chance to get to it, Macy's swiped the golden pin from the table and is pinning it to her dress. It's a little game we have; Grandma gave the pin to our mother when she was a child, as it was passed to her from our Great-grandmother. Apparently, it's some sort of tradition; give the pin to your daughter. Only our Mum had two daughters, so she had to make us share it. Macy and my system is basically 'get hold of it first and it's yours for the day'.

I huff at her, but say nothing.

* * *

Macy and I leave for the Reaping before our parents, as we have to go through all the hassle of signing in, finding our area, squishing in behind the roped 'fence'.

We head to the apothecary and open the door. It doesn't have a tinkling bell like our sweet shop does, and it smells of a strange mix of mint and rosemary, but it's the place Anise calls home; I'm sure she finds _our_ little shop just as peculiar.

"I'll just go get her." Mr. Pottingner, Anise's father, tells us. He heads into their home behind it. We don't hear what he says, but Anise comes bounding out a moment later with a smile on her face.

We line up at the sign-in area for sixteen year old girls. Macy goes first. They prick her finger, press it down below her name in the register booklet, and then tell her to move along. Anise's next, then me.

We head to our area together, bunching in side by side.

"I'm so nervous!" Anise gushes. "Aren't you guys?"

"Of course!" Macy assures her. "Who isn't?"

"And twice the number of tributes!" My best friend continues. "I just hope it isn't some little twelve year old kid; it's always so sad when that happens. You know they never really have a chance. Oh, and I hope it's not one of us three too." She says the last bit hastily, like it's an afterthought.

I open my mouth to say something, but promptly shut it again as District 12's Capitol escort, an annoyingly eccentric lady called Delicia, trots to the centre of the stage. She's wearing a dress a shade of yellow that makes my eyes hurt, and a wig a hideous shade of neon green.

"Hello, District 12," She shouts into a microphone. "And welcome to the 50th Annual Hunger Games. Isn't it exciting?"

No-one says anything.

"Well, then." She huffs, stepping aside as Mayor Strawt takes her place.

He gives us the same speech he does every year, and I honestly zone out. I only focus on the stage once more as Delicia shoves him aside and says

"Ladies first, as per usual." She scuttles over to the girls' reaping bowl. I think about the five slips of paper bearing my name, Macy's name, Anise's name. I cross my fingers and hope it isn't one of us.

"Betony Cliff." She reads out.

I relax, but feel Anise grip my hand as a small Seam girl shuffles up the stairs from the front of the square. She's clearly from the twelve year old section. Still, at least it's not me. I feel horrible for thinking it, but it's true. Anise, Macy and me; we're safe. Assuming one of us isn't picked for the second female tribute, but what are the chances of _that_.

Delicia pats Betony on the shoulder as she walks past and dips her hand in the girls' pot again. "Maysilee Donner."

It doesn't register. Not for a moment. Before I know it, Anise's holding my arm in a vice-like grip, Macy's hugging the other in a similar fashion, and both are telling me how they'll never, ever let go.

"It'll be alright." I tell them, thought I think I'm trying to convince myself just as much as I am them. "Just let go of me, okay?"

They keep holding on, but the nearest Peacekeeper begins to stir. Anise must catch it too, and she knows the extent of wounds they can inflict better than anyone; it's _her_ parents who have to clean the wounds from the whippings, after all.

She let's me go. Macy hesitates for a moment, but she eventually let's go too.

I speed-walk to the stage, aware of everyone's eyes on me at this moment. And not just in District 12; watching the Games is mandatory, so literally _everyone_ in all of Panem must be watching me now.

I stop beside Betony, feeling incredibly numb all over. Something in the back of my mind insists that this is all a crazy dream, one I'll wake up from in a few hours. I know it can't be.

The top of Betony's head just reaches my shoulder. She's tiny. Delicia gives us both a brief smile before hurrying across to the boys' bowl and dunking her hand in, pulling out a slip and opening it: "Baxter Barnes."

Uh oh. Baxter's mother is friends with mine and, as a result, Macy and I spent a lot of time with him when we were younger. He's a sweet guy, almost like a big brother to us. I can't stand the thought of having to _kill_ him, annoying as he may be.

Baxter stands beside me. He's almost a whole head taller than me, and he looks nervous. I think he's… _Trembling_…

"Any volunteers?" Delicia shouts.

Of course, there are none. There are never any in District 12. Just like there wasn't one for me, for tiny little Betony.

Delicia pulls out another slip of paper. "Haymitch Abernathy."

It's a name that rings bells. As he takes to the stage, I recognise him vaguely. I've never _actually_ spoken to him. He's a Seam boy in my year at school, with dark curly hair and stormy grey eyes I'm not sure I can trust.

Delicia asks for volunteers, but there are none. I feel my shoulders involuntarily shiver at the silence.

"Panem," Delicia shouts from behind us. "I give you your District 12 tributes!"

I think she's expecting applause, and it comes. But it's quiet, strained, and undeniably forced. My eyes search for Anise and Macy in the crowd. They aren't clapping. They're hugging each-other tightly. I pull my eyes away before they start tearing up. I do _not_ cry.

A squad of peacekeepers lead us to the Justice Building. They're armed with guns; we have no choice but to comply. But I can't help but feel scared out of my wits.


	2. Goodbye, District 12

The Peacekeepers dump us in the Justice Building's foyer. Because there's only usually two tributes, Delicia explains to us about how Betony and I will have to share a room, as will Baxter and Haymitch, for the 'goodbyes'. Haymitch seems indifferent to the idea, though I get the impression he's thinking. Baxter seems nervous, but goes with it. Betony nod solemnly. We're led to the room where our friends and family will visit and are effectively thrown in, the door pulled shut behind us.

Betony makes straight for the large, cushioned sofa. She sits down, leans back, and I can tell it's the first time she's sat on such a comfortable seat. The door opens and my parents hurry in before I have chance to join her.

"Where's Macy?" I ask them.

"She wanted to come in with Anise." Mum explains quickly. She wraps me in a hug before I have chance to do anything. My Dad watches for a moment before wrapping his arms round the both of us.

I feel Mum's shaking, so I quickly say "Don't even think about crying." She laughs and both parents let me go at the same time. They just stare at me for a moment. And that's when it seems to register. I'm going to the _Hunger Games_. There are _forty eight_ of us this year. I am so doomed.

"Just…" Dad says shakily. "Try your best, okay?"

"Okay." I promise. "But the chances of me winning are…"

"They're there, Maysilee." He interrupts. "Just because there's twice the number of you doesn't mean you can't win, okay?"

I don't want to argue with him, considering this is probably the last time I'll ever see him. So instead I just hug him again. I feel my Mum hug us both too. And then the door's opening and the Peacekeepers are pulling them away from me, out the door. It slams shut. Stupid three minute time limit.

I stare at the door for a moment, as if to assure myself that it _is_ shut, before sitting beside Betony on the sofa. We say nothing; if she's like me, she has no idea what she should say. The door opens, and there's a man who's definitely got that Seam coalminer look about him entering. By his side is a woman in a patched up dress that I think has a faded pink floral design on the parts of it than aren't littered with holes or patches of mismatched fabric, and a small boy in dungarees. He must be about four or five. In the woman's arms in a little baby, all wrapped up in a blanket. Betony jumps up.

I don't watch their goodbyes; it's a private thing, after all. Usually, I wouldn't even be in the same room as Betony and her family. Instead, I stand up and walk over to the window. I look out of it, but I'm honestly only staring at the hills in the distance, the woods just before them. Everything seems to glaze over, and I register nothing of the world outside my own head until I hear Anise screaming my name. I turn around and spy her and my sister entering the room. Betony's sitting on the sofa trying not to cry. I'm guessing her three minutes are up.

I hurry across the room and hug both my sister and my best friend.

"Maysilee!" Macy says quickly, untangling herself from me and prising Anise away. "You're allowed a token in the arena, right?" Straight to business, I see.

"Right…" I agree.

"Well, I figured you'd need this." She says quickly. "Because Grandma said it's lucky, and you'll need lots of luck, won't you?"

She's rambling, and I'm sure she knows it, but she can't seem to help herself.

After a little more rambling about nothing really, she seems to manage to take control of her tongue and lifts up a hand. I hold my own out and she drops the mockingjay pin into it. I stare at if for a moment before handing it back to her.

"No." I say bluntly. "You got to it first."

"But I want you to take it!" She insists. "Here, I'll pin it on your dress for you." And she does, before I have chance to argue.

"Thank you, guys." I say fondly. "Now, listen, if I don't get back…"

"You're coming back, Maysilee," Anise interrupts, but I wave her off.

"Anise," I continue, though my voice is wavering. I will not cry; not until they've gone. "Anise, you can have my canary."

"No," Anise whispers, because she apparently still thinks I might win.

"Her name is Melody." I continue. "She sounds really pretty, although she sometimes sings really loud in the middle of the night. Really _really_ loud." I smile to myself. "But she can't tell the time, can she?"

The peacekeepers open the door again and drag them out. Anise is crying. Macy's crying. They're both trying to grab my hands, so I hold my arms out in front of me like am phantom. The peacekeepers give one more yank, and their hands slip from mine. I wait until the door is firmly shut before I let out a choked sob. And now I'm crying.

Slowly, I head over to sit down on the sofa next to Betony after. She's stopped crying, but her eyes are watery, and I think she might start again at any moment. I'm snivelling too, and about to say something when the door swings open and a girl who looks about my age, dressed in the simplest of faded blue dresses with her dark brown hair held back in a ponytail. She too definitely has that Seam look about her. As Betony slides off the sofa to see her, I manage to put a name to a face; Francis Keatley; she's a year older than me at school. Still, I rarely see her, not even bumping into her in the corridor. She's rarely at school, actually. Where she goes, I don't know. Maybe she's always sick. Maybe she's skiving.

"Francis!" Betony squeaks. "I thought you'd be visiting Haymitch!"

"I visited him first." She admits. "I just thought I should check on you before I go home." Betony effectively hurls herself at Francis, hugging her tightly, and Francis continues. "It's going to be so quiet without you next door."

"You have my baby sister." Betony replies, her voice muffled due to the fact that her face is buried in Francis' stomach. "She's only ever quiet when she's asleep! And then there's Toby; he's always running around."

"But they're not _you_." Francis whispers. "And, don't get me wrong, you're pretty sweet."

Watching the scene, I feel like an outsider (because I am) so I stand and begin to shuffle my way back to the window. When I reach it, I realise I just stare out of it. At the bright, brilliant blue sky, peppered with fluffy white clouds. It looks so happy.

I'm still staring at the sky and feeling jealous of it when I hear my name. I look across the room and see Francis. She's still hugging Betony, but she's looking at me

"I'm sorry." She says solemnly. "I really am."

"There's nothing anyone could have done." I tell her. _Except, maybe, volunteer for me. _I think. _But that never happens in District 12, does it?_

"Still, you seem like a friendly girl." Francis says me. I'm not quite sure how that's going to be useful. She looks back down at Betony. "I can't have long left in here now."

As if she predicted it, the door swings open. She lets her arms drop, but Betony's still hugging her tightly.

"Betony," She says gently. "Let go. I have to go now." But the little girl holds fast.

One of the peacekeepers comes in through the door. "You have to leave now, Miss." He informs Francis.

"I know." She replies. The peacekeeper seems to notice the problem, and tries to pull Francis away from the little twelve year old girl, but apparently Betony has a strong grip. After a little while, I decide to step in. I take a few steps forward, but my hands under her arms, and pull her back. The peacekeeper pulling Francis manages to yank her free. I hold onto Betony's arms and Francis says a 'goodbye', ruffles Betony's hair, and is then ushered out the room by the peacekeeper.

Alone again with the little twelve year old tribute. She bursts into tears again. Not quite sure what to do, I use the fact that I'm still holding her arms to guide her back to the sofa and sit us both down side by side. I put my arm round her shoulders awkwardly, with no idea on how to calm her. I mean, Macy's only younger than me by five _minutes_, and I've never really been good at handling anyone all that much younger than myself anyway.

As I stare at my hand, which lies resting on Betony's opposite shoulder, I notice a little scratch. It's nothing much- doesn't hurt at all- but I'm positive it came from when the Peacekeepers wrenched my sister and best friend from my grasp, probably forever. And then I'm crying too. I can just see Anise and Macy, and with Macy come those memories of my parents and… God, it is not pleasant.

"You…" Betony snivels. "You expecting anyone else?"

"No," I manage, sniffing. "You?"

"No."

We're silent. My right arm's still wrapped round her shoulders, my left hand playing absently with a strand of golden hair that's escaped the bonds of the red Alice band. We're still sitting, snivelling, when the door opens and Delicia bounds in.

"Oh, girls, why the long faces?" She asks. "This is the most exciting opportunity of your entire lives!" I swear this statement makes Betony cry even harder.

I rub my eyes with my left hand and stand up slowly, bringing Betony up with me.

"Ah, that's better." Delicia grins. "Come along, girls. Just wait until you see the train; it's simply _gorgeous_."

She trots over to the door, though I'm not actually watching her, per se. I'm watching her shoes. Man, they are some high heels. It's only when she coughs politely that I realise she's waiting for us in the doorway, one hand on her hip. I give Betony's shoulder a reassuring squeeze and the two of us walk over, my right arm still across her small shoulders.

The moment we step out the door, there are peacekeepers. One on either side of us, two behind, and one walking beside Delicia up front. Like we'd get anywhere, even if we _did_ try to run. There are too many people, too many cameras.

Speaking of which, it seems the camera people have flocked to the entrance of the Justice Building. As we step out, I become aware of so _many_ people filming us. And then I remember that that's nothing compared to how many people are _watching_ us. I squeeze my eyes shut. It's all alright, it's all alright.

I open my eyes and glance down at Betony. She's not crying, but her cheeks are definitely very soggy and her nose very runny. It makes me want to offer her a tissue, but this dress doesn't have any pockets. Stupid dress.

"Wait here." Delicia instructs us brightly. "I'm just going to fetch the boys."

She scurries back inside the Justice Building. I glance nervously at the five peacekeepers surrounding us.

"Hey," I experiment. Most of them ignore me, but I get a friendly smile from one of them. He must feel bad, guarding me like this before sending me off to my death; which is going to be televised on live TV, might I add.

Delicia comes out with Baxter and Haymitch not too long after that. Baxter's eyes are all puffy and red; he always was a bit of a softie. Okay, a lot of a softie. I can't tell with Haymitch. I don't think he's been crying. His eyes aren't all red, at any rate. Mind you, standing next to Baxter right now, _Betony_ could probably look like she hasn't been crying in comparison.

"Wilhelm should meet us at the station." Delicia says, walking off, down the steps at the side of the stage and toward the car which has pulled up a little way from them. She clearly expects us to follow.

"Well," Haymitch says, glancing at Betony and back at Delicia. He says the next part in a heavily Capitol accent; "Ladies first."

"Of course." I reply, probably a little more bitterly than I meant to. I lead Betony after Delicia. I can hear the boys coming down the steps behind us.

There's a Peacekeeper holding one of the doors open for us. I retract my arm from around Betony's shoulders and she crawls into the far seat. I crawl in next, then Baxter, then Haymitch. It's pretty squished inside the car, as it isn't exactly big. Thankfully, Delicia's in the front seat, beside the driver; otherwise I think I'd die of suffocation before we even make it to the arena.

Betony's staring out the window, watching the world rush by. I don't think they use cars in the Seam. We have one, but we rarely use it; there's few places we need to go that aren't near enough to walk. I know Baxter has one too but, like me, rarely uses it. Haymitch; well, if he's intrigued by the car journey he certainly doesn't show it.

The whole way there, Delicia is babbling on about how 'exciting' this experience will be for us, how 'lovely' the Capitol is. She's just telling us about how 'exhilarating' the train journey is when Betony bursts into tears once more.

I sit there, unsure of what to do. I can't even put my arm round her shoulders, as my hands are being squished together in between my knees in an attempt to make myself smaller and thus avoid being squashed into a little Maysilee pancake.

Thankfully, Haymitch is a hell of a lot better at dealing with kids than I am, apparently.

"Bet, it's alright." He tells her, leaning forward to make eye contact with the little girl over me and Baxter, who are pushing ourselves into the backs of our seats in an attempt to make his job a little easier.

"How is it alright?" Betony sniffles. He can't answer that one.

There's an awkward silence that even Delicia doesn't attempt to break, ending only when we reach the station.

"Well," She says, and it sounds a little like she's sighing with relief as she does so. I know that feeling. "We're here and… Look, there's Wilhelm!" She opens the door and jumps out of the car. The four of us tributes in the back exchange nervous glances.

"It's now or never." Haymitch says eventually.

"I think I prefer never." I state. Baxter rolls his eyes, definitely used to my usual behaviour.

"Bet," Haymitch says, leaning forward in an attempt to see the small girl round me and Baxter again. "Can you get the door? Your side's nearer the platform."

She sniffs and rubs her eyes. "Okay." She practically whispers, reaching for the handle and yanking the door open.

She steps out onto the platform and walks a little distance before turning to face us, just to give the rest of us enough room to get out. We do so and stand beside her, all in a little line. We're staring at the empty space near the track, wondering exactly where this 'gorgeous' Capitol train is, when there's a 'whoosh' noise, really loud, and a sudden blast of air that sends hair and skirts alike flying to the right.

The blast is so big that my Alice band is lying on the floor once it's over, which is pretty sharp-ish. As I push my (now matted) hair back behind my ear and slot the Alice band back onto my head, I hear Baxter whisper

"Woah." I follow his gaze.

Delicia didn't lie. It is a 'gorgeous' train.


	3. Aboard the Gorgeous Train

The four of us stand there for a while, just staring at the train. District 12 trains are pretty bland, and they make the platform smell all smoky as they release that intoxicating black smoke cloud. I think they might run on coal; it certainly smells like it. But merchants' girls, such as myself, can't be expected to know these things. The Capitol's tribute trains on the other hand, well they only come to District 12 for the Hunger Games, which means we only ever see them on TV. It's so shiny and, in a strange way, pretty, I guess.

Delicia and Wilhelm are heading toward the doors, which have slid open to greet us. He steps in without turning round, like he's in a trance, but Delicia stops just before the door and turns to face us.

"Well?" She asks. "Are you coming?" She turns and follows our mentor-to-be into the cabin.

The four of us glance at each-other once again, none of us wanting to be the first to make a move. It's as we stand there staring at each-other that I notice the giant television screen behind Baxter and Haymitch.

"Guys, look!" I say, pointing. They turn, and Betony peers round me. We stand, staring at ourselves, who seem to be staring back from behind the glass screens.

"Where are the cameras, though?" Haymitch asks, confused. We look round, catch sight of several people with the insect-like contraptions trained on us a little way down the platform.

"Children!" Our heads snap back round to the train's open doors instantly. Delicia's staring at us, arms folded, waiting for us to enter the train. No-one moves.

In the end, it's Haymitch who rolls his eyes and strides toward the open doors like it's nothing. Betony scampers after him like a little sheep. I glance at Baxter.

"Ready?" I ask.

"Of course not." He replies. Still, the two of us start walking.

Seconds after we're inside the cabin, the doors automatically slide shut. Betony leaps out of her skin, confused by the snap-hiss noise they make as they close and the sudden jolt that comes after.

"Isn't it marvellous?" Delicia asks, though I barely hear her. I'm looking around, and it's not until I see the world whizzing past at the window opposite that I realise the sudden jolt was the train beginning to move. You can hardly feel a thing! Now _that_ is cool, in a weird and unexpected way.

Betony rushes to the window the moment she realises we're moving too, pressing her nose up against the glass as she watches District 12 landscape melt away into the large orchards of District 11.

"Now," Delicia says. "Um…" She turns to Wilhelm, who is staring at the wall in a failed attempt to make himself invisible. At least, that's what I suspect. "This is Wilhelm, as you know I'm sure. He'll be your mentor."

We know who Wilhelm is. He _is_ District 12's only ever victor from the last fourty-nine hunger games. I highly doubt we'll get another one, at least not this year: we hardly look a promising bunch, do we? I'll bet there are tributes from the career districts big enough to pull our arms out, snap our spines like a twig. _They're_ the ones who will win.

Wilhelm won the Hunger Games three years before I was born, at the age of seventeen- like Baxter is now. Mum said he was the sort of boy who was always smiling. She said he liked causing trouble on market day, running between stalls and acting like he was still a little kid. He had a spring in his step, a sparkle in his Seam grey eyes, so she said. She also said that, after the games, he was a completely different person.

Of course, I never knew the old Wilhelm. The Wilhelm I know is quiet. He rarely talks, rarely even leaves his house, and if he says anything it's usually something either offensive or confusing. His grey eyes look old, and they never sparkle- at least, as far as I know. In fact, his dark hair is already flecked with grey. He looks older than thirty six. But he isn't. It's quite sad, really.

Wilhelm stares at me and the boys with those haunted grey eyes, examining us carefully. He then turns to watch Betony, who is no longer pressed against the window's glass but is still looking through it like a kid in a sweet shop. He turns back to us.

"I hope you realise that the chances are none of you will be coming home." He says. I glare. I knew- of course I knew!- but I didn't exactly need him to voice that, did I? See what I mean? Offensive.

There's silence, safe for the train rattling against the track. Delicia coughs nervously.

"Look," Wilhelm says exasperatedly. "I'm only telling you the truth. Would you rather I lied?" I stay silent. "Fine. You're going to win! All four of you will, somehow defying the Games' rules, make it back alive! My goodness, aren't you just _excited_?" It's all dripping with sarcasm. Every word.

"No." I reply, in answer to his question. Though I know he already knows the answer.

"Good." He states smugly. "I didn't think so. Now, I need a rest…" He turns and walks off down the train. I think he just wants to get away from us. Delicia shakes her head.

"Sorry, children," She apologises, though I'm not sure why it's her fault our mentor is so grumpy. "He's like this every year." She turns to Betony. "Come here, dear. Just wait until you see your rooms."

As the four of us follow Delicia down the train, we don't talk. Our escort is doing enough talking for all of us, anyway. As we go, she tells us that, since there's usually only two of us, we're going to have to room-share for the duration of the journey.

"It'll be like one big, exciting slumber party!" She trills.

"Yeah," I catch Haymitch mutter. "Only they kill you at the end." The four of us burst out laughing. Delicia stops suddenly. I almost walk into her.

"Having fun, I see?" She smiles. "Good. The more we smile, the more sponsors we'll get." I fail to see her logic here. Surely the more cruel and brutal we look, the more sponsors we get. Or the more likely we are to win. Or the better looking we are in general. Smiling doesn't even come into the equation. Unless, I guess, you have a really _pretty_ smile.

We reach the boys' chambers first. The door slides open automatically when we reach it, and Delicia steps to the side proudly. Haymitch and Baxter look at each-other and walk in together.

"My God!" I hear Baxter say.

Delicia smiles and leads me and Betony on. As we go, I can't help but wonder what could've made Baxter say 'my God'. I decide that it must either be something really good or really bad when Delicia stops at the room I shall share with Betony.

The door slides open and I feel Betony's hand slip into mine. Cautiously, we walk in together. The door closes behind us with a snap-hiss.

There are two beds (thank God!); one by the window, and one to the right of another door. I walk slowly over to this door, Betony following (she _has_ attached her hand to mine, after all). It opens on its own and we walk inside to find an enormous bathroom; bigger than my living room back home! The floors are tiled with little mosaic pieces, all different shades of blue ranging from the dark of a shadow to the hue of the sky. The wall is tiled in larger pieces of porcelain, all a flawless white.

If it's a big bathroom for me, I realise it must be even bigger for Betony. Her whole house could probably fit in here, being from the Seam and all. I release her hand a walk over to the shining china sink, run my hand over its smooth surface. Betony follows, like a little lost puppy.

"What are…" She says curiously. "These?" She prods one of two gleaming taps above the sink.

"Taps, I think." I reply. "I'm not sure… Mum once told me and Macy that they have these in the Capitol." I put my hand on the top of it, grip it tightly, and flick my wrist. Water gushes out of a little opening down a spout, into the sink.

"Woah." Betony breathes. "That's so cool!" I smile slightly and turn the tap back off.

"Come on." I say. "Let's go explore our bedroom."

The carpet of our bedroom in so, so soft and thick. Betony sits on the window bed, which she seems to have claimed as her own, and flicks her worn shoes off, standing on the soft carpet just so she can feel it beneath her toes. After the novelty of this wears off, she stands on her bed and watches the world rush by as our train speeds through the districts toward the Capitol. I think we're in District 10; there are vast fields, and I'm sure I spotted a few cows.

I watch Betony, because she's so amazed by everything it's enchanting, before going over to my bed- by the bathroom door- and sitting on it. My God, that is comfy!

I guess I have a nap, because suddenly Delicia's staring at me from above and Betony's pulling her shoes on behind her. I sit up and rub my eyes sleepily.

"Supper's ready, dear." She informed me cheerfully. "Just wait until you see it; it's simply gorgeous!"

Dinner is gorgeous. Dinner. Gorgeous. This I've got to see.


	4. Dinner on the Train

**This chapter doesn't seem quite as good, in my opinion, as the ones before. It seems a little... weird... If you can figure out why, could you let me know in a review. Or if you blatantly disagree with that and think it's great, but I'm still convinced it's different to the others somehow.**

* * *

Delicia didn't lie; dinner is, I hate to admit it, gorgeous. When the three of us- me, Betony and Delicia- reach the table, the boys are already sitting down- Wilhelm at the end of the table, Baxter and Haymitch awkwardly sitting side by side. Betony darts right for the chair at the other head of the table, directly opposite Wilhelm. Delicia makes a 'huff' noise (I take it she usually has the other head end) and sits opposite Haymitch, nearer Betony's end than Wilhelm's. I, seeing as it's the only place left, slip into the chair opposite Baxter.

Then, I just stare at the plates arranged across that table; there are bowls of salad, a big carcass of what I assume to be chicken, but it could just as easily be duck or turkey- I'm not an expert when it comes to dead birds. There's various fruits, vegetables; even, to my surprise, a little bowl of peanuts! Everything's so beautifully laid out, like it's a piece of artwork and not just dinner. I almost feel bad thinking about eating it, just because it'll ruin it.

And then I remember that if it's a lot of _gorgeous_ food for me, it must be the most amazingly _fantastic_ food to Betony and Haymitch; the Seam kids. The latter doesn't really look too fased, though there is what I suspect to be mild amazement making the corners of his mouth lift ever so slightly in what I think might be the beginnings of a suppressed smile. Betony, however, isn't even trying to contain her excitement.

"I've never even seen so many different types of fruit at once!" She squeals, grinning ecstatically and pointing, "Haymitch, look!"

"Yeah, I see." He says, following the direction her finger is pointing with his gaze to the bird on the dish that may or may not be a chicken. "It's duck, isn't it?" He looks across at Delicia for confirmation.

"I believe so." She confirms. The chicken is duck. Okay.

We sit there, no-one saying anything, no-one moving a muscle. After a while, I take it Wilhelm's stomach was telling him to get on with it because he's reaching across the table and slowly pulling the nearest bowl of salad toward him. _Really_ slowly. It's like he's under the impression that if he moves it slowly, we won't notice it's moving.

Still, that one action of Wilhelm's starts up all of us. Soon I find myself munching through a slice of freshly cut bread. I could put butter on it, but that's all the way down on Betony's half of the table and I doubt I could reach it.

"Now then," Delicia says, dabbing at her mouth with a paper napkin. "We'd all best get an early night tonight; tomorrow morning we'll be arriving in the Capitol." She looks around at all of us, as though she's expecting us to say something. No-one says a word. In the end it's Betony who speaks for us:

"What's the Capitol like, Delicia?"

"Well…" Delicia struggles, apparently not expecting a question like this. "It's… Very… Gorgeous? Yes, that's the word."

"Uh huh." Betony replies. "Are the people there friendly?"

"Oh, they're _fantastic_." Delicia insists. "They're just like… Wilhelm, help me out here."

"Wild dogs." Wilhelm replies flatly, not even looking up from his plate. "They're _just_ like wild dogs." Delicia glares at him.

"I see you still know nothing." She scolds, using the sort of voice you'd expect someone to use with little kids. "Honestly, I would think that you'd know better, what with how many times you've visited the Capitol now." Wilhelm says nothing, but he's smirking pretty cheekily. It makes me wonder what the playful boy Mum always described was like, and whether or not he used to tease people so easily and finish with a childish smirk back then too.

When dinner's finished, Wilhelm is the first to leave.

"I need sleep." He mutters, shuffling off out of the dining cart toward the room that is his bedroom for the duration of this train journey. Delicia coughs lightly.

"You should get some sleep too." She tells us. "We've got a lovely _busy_ day tomorrow." She scurries out of the room too.

There's silence as the four of us, all still sitting in our respective seats, think about what we can say. It's Betony, once more, who breaks the silence:

"I don't like busy days." She says. "I like days when Daddy isn't working, because it's the weekend, and Gracie is asleep, and Toby is playing with me outside, and Francis comes over to join in. They're my favourite days."

"I like lazy days." Baxter replies. He's not one to talk all that often to strangers, so it surprises me that he's saying anything at all to anybody other than me right now. "You know; days where you don't have to wake up until midday, and you can spend all the rest of the day in your pyjamas."

"I like having a lie in," I say, shooting a brief but pointed glance at Baxter. "But _not_ until midday." He gives me a slight grin. "I like dragging Macy, my sister, round to Anise's house. I like it when the three of us are all together. We could be anywhere, doing anything, but they never fail to make me smile."

"Aw, how touching." Haymitch says. I think it's highly possible he's being sarcastic.

"Oh yeah?" I decide to challenge him. "What are _your_ most perfect days like?"

"The days," He pauses to think for a moment. "Where I hurry over to Betony's house, always knowing Francis is highly likely to be there. And then I, uh," he glances at Betony. "'Kidnap' her."

"Because," Betony continues brightly. "Francis is the fairy princess and Haymitch is the evil warlock who wants to kidnap her and lock her in a tower far away."

"So it's not just that Haymitch has a thing for Francis." I say smugly, looking diagonally across the table at the Seam boy in question. He turns an interesting shade of red.

"No!" He insists. "It's… It's a game we have, that's all."

"Of course it is." My turn to be sarcastic. He glares at me, but I'm grinning so hard that it had little to no effect.

"Well," Baxter says, stretching his arms out above his head. "Delicia said we should go to bed. Maybe we should."

"I'm not tired!" Betony states. This statement is swiftly followed by a loud yawn which seems remarkably large for a girl so small.

"Of course not, Bet." Haymitch agrees. Once again, I am sensing some mild sarcasm here.

"Come on," I say, standing up. "I'm not sure I can remember how many doors down this train we are anyway." Betony obediently slides her chair back and steps away from it, just as I stand behind my own and push it back under the table.

"Night, Haymitch," Betony says brightly. "Night, Baxter. Come on, Maysilee, it's this way!"

She scampers off out of the door. I start to head after her, but stop when I hear my name. It's Baxter.

"Night," He says once I've spun round to look at him accusingly.

"Yeah, night," Haymitch adds.

"Nighty night, boys." I reply, smirking slightly. I hurry after Betony before they can comment. She waiting patiently just outside the door to the dining cart and the two of us head back to our shared room together.


	5. Sleeping Under Tables and Cat's Cradle

**Hm, must've just been me then. Thanks anyway though to everyone who reviewed! Goodness, I must be losing my mind or something.**

**Kyanite Archer- Fixed it :D Thank you!**

I'm in the arena. I don't remember arriving- in fact, my last memory is going to sleep aboard the Capitol's train- but something in the back of my mind says I've been here a long time.

"Maysilee, run!" A voice shouts. I look around; I know that voice. And it can't be… It is. It's Macy. "Run!"

"But where?" I ask, confused.

"Away!" I'm about to question my sister further, but there's a scream from behind me. And somehow I know who it is before I've even spun round.

So I _do_ run. I grab Macy's hand and together we run through the trees, through the thick forest, over the fallen logs and gnarly tree roots. Because we have to get away. We have to get away.

We have to get away from Anise's body.

"Maysilee," My eyes dart open and I involuntarily scream. There is a face hovering about three inches away from my face. Betony leaps backward into a sitting position on the edge of my bed. She's already dressed in a plain white dress. "Are you alright, Maysilee?"

"I'm fine." I reply. "What makes you think I wouldn't be?"

"You were thrashing about in your sleep." Betony explains. She tilts her head to one side curiously. "Do you do that every night?"

"I was having a nightmare." I inform her. "What were you doing up so early anyway?"

"I had a nightmare too." She explains. "Only I woke up _hours_ before you, and I was too scared to go back to sleep again. So I went and explored the bathroom." She smiles. "You should have a shower."

"Are you suggesting something here?" I ask, inwardly groaning. I'm being told by a twelve year old girl that I stink.

"No," She replies. "It's just so much fun. I've had two already, so I think it's your go." Two showers in one morning. That's… Interesting to say the least. "There's spare clothes in the wardrobe." Wardrobe? I look across the room and spot an enormous wardrobe. Nice. How could I not notice that yesterday?

I get out of bed and head over to the wardrobe, flinging the doors open. I grab a white t-shirt and a pair of jeans before making my way into the bathroom. There's a fluffy dry towel draped over the side of the bath. Betony, probably.

It's not until I put the clothes down on the floor and catch sight of myself in the mirror that I realise I fell asleep in that dress I wore to the Reaping. Blast it! Thankfully, I took my Alice band off before I even sat down on the bed. That bed is too darn comfy for its own good!

I slip out of my dress, remembering to unpin my mockingjay pin and place it by the taps so I can find it again, and then tiptoe toward the shower. It's a Capitol shower, and absolutely nothing like the ones back home. For starters, there's a panel with a series of buttons that have no apparent meaning whatsoever. I press one, just to see what it does, and a torrent of freezing cold water cascades down my head. I wince and begin pressing random buttons in the hope that they'll stop it. The water warms up, though not horribly so, and I relax slightly. I stare at the panel with the buttons again. I think I'll try… This one.

Okay, I'm not sure if it's my imagination, but I could swear the water smells of roses. Still, I can't see how that's a bad thing. Now, where's the shampoo in this bathroom?

Eventually, I finish up and, after hitting a series of random buttons that do such things as change the water's scent to lemons, its temperature to scalding hot, causing me to leap away from the water and stand there shivering whilst I hit the buttons at arms length, I find the one to turn it off. I pull back the shower curtain and rush for the fluffy white towel, wrapping it round my shoulders gratefully.

Once I've warmed up and dried off, which could have taken any amount of time at all, I get dressed and pin the mockinjay onto my shirt. I head back into our shared bedroom after. Betony is kneeling on her bed, watching the world rush by the window.

"Betony, do you have a spare hair band?" I ask her. She looks away from the window, toward me. Her dark hair is still slightly damp and hanging loose round her shoulders.

"Nope." She replied. "Why?"

"I was just wondering." I reply, walking to the side of my bed and picking up my Alice band. I slide it onto my head, pushing my wet hair away from my face (I hate having wet hair in my face. Its all cold, and wet, and horrible!), and turn to face her. "Did Delicia give us a time for breakfast?"

"I don't think so." Betony answers. "Should we go to the dining cart and see of anyone else is there?"

"Okay." I agree. I slip my shoes on, which I had apparently put neatly beside my bed, and wait for Betony to pull on her ragged ones. Together, hand in hand, we stand in front of the door. It opens with a '_snap-hiss_' and we head down the train together.

When we reach the dining cart, it's completely silent. I'm about to turn us both round and head back to our room when I hear someone coughing; not an attention-seeking cough, mind. This is a proper cough. Betony glances up at me and I squeeze her hand tighter. From some sort of unspoken agreement, we both start walking toward where the noise is coming from.

It's coming from underneath the table. I look at Betony anxiously. She looks from me to the table and back again. I feel her hand clutch my own slightly tighter. Slowly, I reach out with my free hand, grab the tablecloth, and lift it upward. Both Betony and I bend over and try to see who was making the noise. Wilhelm glares at us from beneath the table.

I'm still trying to figure out what our mentor is doing under the table as he pushes past us, takes the table cloth from my hand, drops it back into its place and stands there, looking down at us with his arms crossed.

"Can I help you, girls?" He asks.

"We heard you coughing and were just wondering… Who it was." I finish explaining feebly. "What were you doing under the table anyway?"

"Sleeping." Wilhelm states.

"But don't you have a bed, Wilhelm?" Betony asks, sounding just as confused as I feel.

"Of course I have a bed!"

"Then why aren't you sleeping in it?" The little girl presses. Wilhelm shakes his head, but says nothing. "Is it because it's not comfortable?"

Wilhelm smiles slightly. "Yes. _Yes_, Betony! That's _exactly_ why! And the carpet in the dining room is so, so soft! We have a genius in the making here, Maysilee!"

Betony's beaming, but I'm still confused. I can't trace any sarcasm in his voice, which would imply he means it. But if his bed's anything like mine, it's far too comfy for its own good; you can't even sit on it without succumbing to its will i.e. sleeping. And being a victor, if anything his bed should be even _more_ annoyingly comfortable. So why on earth is he sleeping under the table?

"What are you girls doing up so early anyway?" Wilhelm asks suspiciously. "It's not even half six." I did not realise it was so early! It would explain why no-one's mentioned breakfast yet though.

"I had a nightmare and I was too scared to go to sleep again." Betony states, yawning immediately after. "And Maysilee had a nightmare too, didn't you?"

"Yeah," I confirm. "I did."

"I had a nightmare too." Wilhelm states. "That's part of the reason I was sleeping under the table."

"I thought you were sleeping under the table because your bed wasn't comfy." Betony tilts her head to the side, puzzled.

Wilhelm sighs. "There are several reasons I sleep under the table, Betony." He states tiredly. "Now, you two should get back to your room. Delicia will fetch you when it's time for breakfast." He is _definitely_ trying to change the subject here.

I slip my hand out of Betony's. "Go back to our dorm." I tell her. "I catch up."

"Okay." She agrees, hurrying from the room. I wait for the '_snap-hiss'_ of the door shutting behind her before I turn back to Wilhelm.

"What?" He asks tiredly.

"What's the _real_ reason you were asleep under the table?" I interrogate, in a tone I hope says 'no lying or else'.

"The nightmares."

"There's more, isn't there?"

"If you win the Games, then I'll tell you."

"But I won't win the Games!"

"I know. That's why I'll never tell you." He sounds smug. I roll my eyes.

"I'll squeeze it out of you before we get thrown in that arena." I warn him. And I will. I'm a good detective.

I hope.

With that, I head back down the train after Betony. We'd best find something to do until Delicia comes, and arguing with Wilhelm about tables does not seem all that entertaining.

Delicia knocks on our door at what I'm assuming is around eight o'clock, but I'm not sure. What I do know, however, is that mine and Betony's hands are all tangled up together in a piece of cotton thread which _was_ coming off of the bottom of her dress.

It was a long, white piece of thread that kept catching on everything, so eventually I told her to stand still whilst I attempted to yank it off. She managed to reach it, sitting on her bed, with her teeth and used those to snap it. I caught it and, for lack of anything better to do, began teaching her cat's cradle. Hence the current predicament.

"Girls, it's breakfast time!" Delicia trills. Both Betony and I look down at our hands and attempt to stand at the same time without falling over. Delicia, standing in the open doorway, rolls her eyes.

"Sorry, Delicia." Betony apologises. "We were bored." I would add my own apology, but I'm worried that if I open my mouth even slightly I will be taken over by the giggles.

"We can cut the string off with a knife or something." Delicia assures us. "There's sure to be something to cut the food, and thread is far easier to cut than food." I'm not sure Delicia has tried cutting thread. You'd think it'd be easy, but it _moves_. You get the scissors poised, but unless you're quick then I swear the thread must dash out of the way or something, because it sure as heck isn't cut the first time you try. Unless you've had a lot of practice, which I clearly haven't.

Still, I am willing to trust Delicia's logic just this once. Betony and I, both with our hands tangled in a forest of thread with the others, try desperately not to burst into giggles as we follow our escort down the train back to the dining cart for the second time this morning.

Baxter, Haymitch and Wilhelm are all sitting in the same places as they were last night. As we enter, they all look toward the door. Wilhelm, as though this is the most normal thing he's ever seen, looks back toward his plate of food. Baxter stares at our hands, wide-eyed, whilst Haymitch bites his lip. Unable to bear it any longer, I burst out laughing. Delicia turns and casts me a distasteful look.

"Wilhelm, do we have any scissors?" She asks, trotting up to the table in her stupidly high heels. Betony, who is biting her lip in an attempt to keep quiet, and me, still laughing uncontrollably, follow her.

"What on earth happened to you two?" Haymitch manages to ask without laughing.

"I was trying to teach Betony cat's cradle when Delicia came in," I explain. "And I can't remember off the top of my head how to get out of this one."

Wilhelm reaches across the table and pulls a carving knife out of what appears to be a pig, but after the not-chicken incident last night I would not trust my judgement on this. "I know a way do get out of this." He states.

He looks awfully menacing holding that knife. Apparently, this notion hits Betony too, because before I know it she's screaming. And with her attached to me, her scream sounds about ten times louder because it's more or less next to my ear.

"Betony, calm down!" I try to say. "It's just to cut the thread! Betony!"

"Bet!" Haymitch yells over the top of her screaming, standing up in his place at the table. Betony stops screaming, looks at him with wide eyes. "Wilhelm's only going to cut the thread. Okay?"

"Okay." She chokes.

Wilhelm stands from his place. Delicia moves out of the way and watches anxiously as he stands in front of me and Betony. He puts the blade of the knife beneath the thread, facing upward, between my hands and Betony's. He jerks it upward, cutting a few strands.

"That should suffice." He mumbles, turning and stabbing the knife back into the maybe-pig. He shuffles back to his seat.

Betony and I shake our hands out of the thread. I notice my wrists are covered in lots of little imprints where the threads were. These should go in a few minutes, I remember from last time I played cat's cradle with Anise.

"Well," Delicia says, taking her place opposite Wilhelm. "Let's start breakfast, shall we? Then we can watch the other Reapings after."

"Yay." I catch Baxter mutter unenthusiastically as I take the seat opposite him at the table. And, to be honest, his one muttered word probably sums up the moods of all of us. Safe for Delicia, of course.


	6. Welcome to Our Glorious Capitol

**Gosh. Me and my brother were thinking of names for the other districts' tributes in this (we _do_ need twice the number of names, after all), and we got to District 11. I said**

**"Well 'Rue' is a type of plant, and 'Thresh' is something you do to corn. So we're looking for plants and things you do to crops for this district'.**

**"Lets call one 'Hoe'!" He said proudly. "Because you hoe the ground!"**

**It took much persuading to convince him that this was not such a fantastic name. I persuaded him to settle with 'Digger' which, though slightly strange, fits the criteria I gave him. The scary thing is, he's not all that much younger than me.**

**Note- He has just read this A.N. over my shoulder and promises me that the suggestion of 'Hoe' was intended to be hilarious.**

**EnglishGleek- Why hello, Celery! You wanted a mention, so here we go. And yes, I know you love Betony and her adorable-ness.**

* * *

According to Delicia, we still have a few more hours until we reach 'our glorious Capitol'. Wilhelm scoffed at her words, but said nothing.

After breakfast, Delicia and Wilhelm take the four of us to a cabin on the train containing a sofa, two plush chairs, and a TV.

"I had someone set the recording function on the TV up yesterday morning." Delicia assures us as she finds the television's remote (on top of the TV) and hits the appropriate buttons. "It should have recorded the Reapings. Ah, look, there they are." The screen flickers a little as the recording begins to play. Delicia squints at the screen for a moment. "Wait, that's _Junia!_ District 5! We want 1!"

Delicia pushes another button on the remote, which I'm assuming is the rewind as everyone starts walking backwards. As the tributes walk backward off the stage, their tears climbing up their faces and back into their eyes, I find myself wishing that someone could just press the rewind button for us, now. So that, like the little pixel-people inside the TV, I could walk backward until I was standing with Anise and Macy at the Reaping. So that Macy and I could walk back home. So that I could eat yesterday's breakfast all over again. So that I never arrived here.

"Ah, here we go." Delicia says brightly, sitting down in one of the plush chairs. "There's Pomponia; District 1."

Betony jumps onto the sofa, curling her legs underneath her so that she can sit on them. I stand there with Wilhelm, Baxter and Haymitch.

"Sit with the Small Girl," Wilhelm instructs quietly. "I'll take the other chair."

"She has a name, you know." Haymitch hisses back, his voice also very quiet. I'm guessing they don't want Delicia to hear; she's blissfully watching the District 1 escort (Pomponia, was it?) give the speech about 'our glorious Capitol' that all the escorts do every year.

"I learnt long ago that knowing your names just makes my job even harder." Wilhelm whispers back. "So, for me, Small Girl, Blondie, Curly and Bookworm are good enough."

"What if one of us wins?" Haymitch challenges quietly. Wilhelm chuckles and pushes past us to sit in the chair.

"Then I'll owe them a lollipop and an apology." He snickers.

Haymitch is fuming as he plops into place beside Betony. Thankfully, 'Small Girl' doesn't appear to notice this. Baxter and I sit awkwardly on the opposite side of Betony to Haymitch. I may not know him well, but he does_ not_ seem like someone you go near when he's angry.

By this time, we've missed the first two District 1 tributes. The next two who come up, the boys ('ladies are _always_ called first', Delicia boasts proudly), are both tall and muscular. Definitely careers. I glance to my right:L Baxter, tall but very bookwormish and not all that much of a fighter; Betony, who is so small and innocent it's clear she doesn't stand a chance; and Haymitch, who confuses me to no end. There's this dangerous-ness to him that I can't quite place. Having seen the District 1 tributes though, I don't think he stands a chance. And then there's me. There is more chance of Father Christmas jumping out of the cupboard (even though it's June) than me winning the Hunger Games. Just to put that into perspective.

It seems like, what with there being twice the number of tributes this year, that they want it over with. We don't see the anthem singing, like usual, and any cut-ins from Capitol presenters are very, very quick. Even so, it takes forever. By the time we reach District 4 (with Delicia's 'good friend Lucretia' as their escort), I feel slightly sick as the thought of just how many tributes there are going to be sinks in. I am so, _so_ doomed.

And the recording keeps on going. I can't help but notice the tributes seem to look less impressively scary the further along we go. We, in District 12, are going to look pathetic.

And the recording goes on. And on. And on.

Eventually, we reach District 12. By this time, my head is swimming at the thought of so many tributes.

"Look, that's me!" Betony squeals, pointing a finger at the screen. There she is, standing in the crowd looking rather surprised; her name's just been called. A girl pats her shoulder awkwardly as a peacekeeper steps forward and Betony begins to make her way up the stage before they have a chance to do anything.

The Delicia on the screen asks for volunteers, and, of course, there are none. There never are.

And then the Delicia on the screen walks across the stage to the girls' bowl once again and my name is called. The camera's find me, and I see what the rest of Panem have already seen; Anise and Macy holding onto me tightly, telling me they'll never let go. But I pull myself away and speed-walk onto the stage.

I look rather awkward standing next to Betony on that stage. And heartless too; I didn't cry until I saw Macy and Anise in the Justice Building, after all. Baxter looks even more awkward than me, possibly because he's clearly trying not to look awkward. You can't see his trembling from this camera angle. And then there's Haymitch, who beats me in the heartless-looking aspect. He's showing little emotion at all.

The tributes on the TV are ushered into the Justice building by their Delicia. Our own Delicia, the _real_ one, stands up and flicks the TV off.

"Little tributes," She says patronizingly. "Find something to amuse yourselves with for the next…" She looks at a clock on the wall. "Hour or so. Wilhelm, same goes for you. I'll be in my cabin should any of you little dears need me."

And she walks out of the room.

No-one says anything. Wilhelm coughs, again one of those genuine coughs, not a 'I'm here everybody!' cough.

"Maysilee," Betony says suddenly. "Can we play cat's cradle? All together?"

"I don't have any thread." I tell her.

"Oh," She says sadly. "Okay."

"Hey," Wilhelm says suddenly. It's very unexpected, and we all turn to look at him immediately. "At the back of the train, there's an enormous window; it takes up most of the back 'wall', if they're called walls on a train. Do you want to see?"

The four of us look at each-other.

"Alright." Haymitch decides, speaking for all of us. He stands up. "Lead the way."

Wilhelm gets up out of his chair and heads toward the door. Betony jumps up and skip-walks after him. Haymitch smirks slightly at her and follows. I stand up and turn to face Baxter.

"You coming?" I ask.

"What else is there to do?" He grumbles, standing up slowly. I dart for the door.

"Come on!" I urge. "Before we lose them!" And then I dash down the corridor. Baxter will find me. He always used to when we were younger and I dashed off.

Sure enough, I've just caught up with Wilhelm, Haymitch and Betony when Baxter appears beside me.

"Gotcha." He whispers casually. I suppress a smile; again, that was something that had evolved when we were younger.

Baxter's mother and mine were good friends when we were little. And when mothers have friends, they tend to drag their young kids out to see them as they're still too little to be left at home alone. As a result, Macy and I spent a lot of time with Baxter before we started school. Even after we started school, our mothers met up once a month or so, and we'd see him then. Baxter, being a year older than me and Macy, was always put in charge when our parents left us to just 'play something'. And Macy and I always used to make it difficult for him by running off. When he caught us, he'd always say 'gotcha'. It became a sort of tradition.

We reach the room at the back of the train. The door opens with a _'snap-hiss'_ and Wilhelm leads us in. The door closes behind us.

Betony immediately rushes to the window. She puts two hands on it, as if to check there's really glass there; it's so clear that only the sunlight bouncing off of it in places told me there _was_ any glass.

"We're nearing the Capitol." Wilhelm tells us. "So look out for crazy fashions."

I head over to the window and stand beside Betony. She's got her amazed look on her face again, like when she saw the water coming from the taps yesterday. But as she's watching District 1 run by, I'm watching the train track. I'm watching all of the little planks appear to slide away from underneath the train, disappearing over the horizon.

"Maysilee, look!" Betony says, grabbing my arm. I tear my eyes away from the train track and look in the direction she's pointing.

I'm dimly aware of Baxter and Haymitch heading over, Wilhelm staying by the door. To be honest, Betony has spotted something rather intriguing; a crowd of people. Their fashions are weird and bright and contorted, but they appear excited. Betony waves enthusiastically. The majority of them wave back.

"Make a good impression, kids." Wilhelm advises. "These are your potential sponsors." There's a _snap-hiss_ as the door opens and he leaves, another as it closes behind him.

Betony's still waving with the hand not grabbing my arm. I lift the hand attached to my free arm and wave slowly, nervously. Baxter joins in. Soon, Haymitch is the only one not waving.

"Aren't you going to wave, Haymitch?" I ask.

"What's the point?" He counters. "We're as good as dead anyway."

"Don't say that." I scold him. Because even if it's true, I don't need people telling me.

"Haymitch, we've got a chance." Betony insists gently, still waving at the crowd with one hand and holding my arm with the other. "There's _always_ a chance, remember? That's what Mum always says."

Haymitch raises one hand and waves it slowly. "Happy now?"

"Yep." Betony confirms.

And then the crowd are lost over the horizon; quite a feat because there's a hell of a lot of them.

Delicia appears in the room behind us, and she's ushering us out. Betony reluctantly leaves the window and scampers down the train after our escort. Baxter shoots me a quick smile before following.

"Have you noticed what room this is yet?" Haymitch asks.

"The one at the back." I reply. He rolls his eyes.

"You seem like a bright girl, Maysilee." He informs me. "_Think_."

I say nothing, because I am very thoroughly confused.

"See you in a minute." And he leaves. The door closes.

I stand there for a moment, looking around the room and trying to figure out what exactly what in Panem Haymitch was referring to.

There's the window. There's a chair in the corner. There's the bed and… Wait, bed? I walk slowly over to the small bed in the corner. It doesn't look comfortable. In fact, it looks very hard. I poke it experimentally. The mattress barely shifts.

There's a _snap-hiss_ as the door opens. "Blondie, when you're finished examining my bed, we've reached the Capitol."

I look up, find my eyes locking with those of my mentor. "No wonder you were sleeping under the table!" I say. "What's in this mattress? Rocks?"

He smiles, slightly. "I wouldn't be surprised." He says. "My doctors said it would 'help' if I had a mattress like that, and the President always invests in things the doctors believe will help."

"Doctors?" I ask as I walk out of the room and into the train corridor. He follows, and the door _snap-hisses_ shut. "Are you sick?"

"In a manner of speaking. Apparently. You won't understand until you've…"

"Won the Hunger Games?" I guess. "Which means I'll never know."

"You're cottoning on fast, Blondie." Wilhelm grins. "You might make it past the initial bloodbath after all."

"Thanks for your _enormous_ amount of faith." I mutter sarcastically.

Before he can say anything, we're in the small entrance-room that we'd stood in yesterday. Delicia is already off of the train, smiling at all of her fellow Capitol citizens who have gathered at the train-station- we can see through the open train door. There's a load of Peacekeepers trying to hold back the crowd at least a little so that we can get through.

Wilhelm strides off the train like there's no crowd there, like he's the only person in the world. Delicia smiles at him warmly, not that he notices, and turns to us.

"Come along, little tributes," She says brightly. "There's nothing to be scared of."

None of us move.

"Honestly, stop being so silly!" Delicia continues.

I feel Betony's hand slip into mine.

"You're looking stupid on live TV, darlings, now come on."

That stirs Baxter to life. "We'd best get going, huh?" He looks at Haymitch, as if for confirmation.

"Yeah, we should." Haymitch agrees reluctantly. "I'll go first. Bet, stay with Maysilee."

"Got her." I assure him, squeezing the younger girl's hand gently.

"Then let's get going." Haymitch says, giving us a cocky grin. He jumps off the train. Baxter gives us the slightest of smiles before following suite.

"Ready, Betony?" I ask, walking up to the train door.

"Nope." She replied. "But I don't think that matters." There's a pause. "Can we jump?"

"What?" I ask, looking at her with what I imagine to be a very confused expression on my face.

"Girls, hurry up!" Delicia shouts from outside on the platform.

"Can we jump?" Betony repeats. "As in, out of the train?"

"I can't see any harm in it." I agree. "On the count of three?" She nods. "One… Two… Three!"

Still holding hands, we jump. Our feet hit the platform at about the same time, and I remember to bend my legs so that I don't injure myself. A few people in the front of the Capitol's crowd applaud us. Betony smiles and waves with her free hand. I give the crowd a slim smile and start to drag Betony after the boys, who are already following Wilhelm along the path the peacekeepers have made for us and out of the station.

"Are know, aren't they just _darling_?" Delicia shouts at the crowd happily. I hear the click of her heels as she trots after us.

Wilhelm is waiting with Baxter and Haymitch just outside the station. Betony is still holding my hand tightly when we reach them.

"We need to wait for the taxi." Haymitch explains quickly. Baxter looks around me.

"Here comes Delicia." He says.

"Oh, joy." Wilhelm grumbles. The four of us turn to face him, shocked. "Do not tell _anyone_ I said that."

"Hello, dears!" Delicia trills, stopping on the other side of Betony. "So, welcome to the Capitol. What do you think?"

Everyone's silent for a moment. Thankfully, Betony speaks up before we all get told off for not answering Delicia's question. "It's very busy."

"You'll get used to that!" Delicia dismisses. "The crowd loved you though, Bethany. They said you were really sweet!"

"It's _Betony_." Haymitch corrects through what I suspect to be gritted teeth. Baxter shoots him an apologetic look.

Thankfully, that's the taxi coming down the road now. Which means any retorts Delicia might've thought up are swiftly forgotten. She pushes past me and Betony, yanks the taxi door open, and sits in the front seat.

"There's usually three seats in the middle, two at the back." Wilhelm says. "It usually matters to most people who they sit with, so hurry up and pick a seat." He sounds tired.

Betony wrenches the door open and dashes in, dragging me with her. I bow my head to keep from hitting it on the car ceiling as she dashes to the far window in the 'three seats in the middle' part Wilhelm mentioned.

"I'll go in the back." I hear Baxter say. "Wilhelm, come on."

Our mentor fiddles about with the seat to my left, the opposite side to Betony's, and pushes it flat and forward. He steps aside and Baxter jumps in, walking round the back. I'm guessing he takes the seat behind Betony, because I hear his seatbelt click and see his hand appearing beside my head, between my chair and hers. I catch it in my left hand- the one not held by Betony- and squeeze it as hard as I can.

"Ow!" I hear him complain from behind. "That really hurts!"

I giggle and let go, smirking slightly at how quickly he wrenches his hand back through the gap the moment I'm not holding onto it. Wilhelm shakes his head and clambers in, sitting beside Baxter and behind me. He attempts to sort the chair beside me out, with help from Haymitch outside. Once it's back where it was before, Haymitch climbs into the seat beside me.

"Do_ not_ let Maysilee hold your hand." Baxter warns the other male tribute as 'Curly' pulls his seatbelt across his lap and clicks it into place.

"I don't see why you're complaining so much." Betony replies. Of course, I haven't squeezed her hand as hard as I did Baxter's just now; she thinks he's complaining about nothing.

"Little Bet is tougher than you, Baxter." Haymitch mock-scolds as the car starts to move. "The odds aren't exactly in your favour, are they?"

Betony is staring out of the window. If she got any closer to the glass, I think her nose would be pressed flat against it. She's still holding my right hand.

"They're not exactly in anybody's favour." Baxter grumbles. "Not in _this_ car, anyway."

"Aww," I say very softly. "Do you want me to hold your hand, Bax?"

"Do I look stupid?" He asks.

"I don't know; I can't see you through the seat." I point out. There's a moment of silence.

"Yeah, you look stupid." Wilhelm says bluntly from behind me.

Delicia gives an annoyed sigh from the seat in front and starts telling the driver beside her how 'the tributes all seem to have minds of their own these days'. No-one points out that this is because we _do_ have minds of our own. We'll leave her to her little fantasies.

* * *

**I can't find my Hunger Games book (as in the first one) and that's the one with the 'travel details' in it. So if I've messed up with the getting-off-the-train and the taxi part, please don't kill me D:**


	7. The Training Centre

**I've lost my copy of the Hunger Games for what I'm pretty sure is the second time in the last few weeks! Reading this through, it seems kinda inaccurate to the books, but then I'm writing about the car journeys and things. Katniss doesn't really like describing car journeys. **

**Still, if anything's inaccurate _please_ let me know. So long as it's something small, I can fix it. If it's something enormous, I might not be able to fix it but it'd be nice to know, right? Right.**

* * *

The car pulls to a stop outside our Training Centre. I recognise it from the TV; I _have_ been forced to watch the Games every year, after all.

Haymitch's side of the car is nearest to the Centre. He looks out of the car window, turns to face me and Betony.

"There's a lot of cameras." He says grimly.

"The sooner you get used to a few cameras, the better." Delicia insists from the front of the car. She opens her door, swings her legs out, and off she trots to the building.

I turn my head to face Haymitch, considering he's the one who's got to open the door if we're planning on getting out any time soon. His fingers are resting on the door's handle hesitantly.

"Are you ready?" He asks us all.

"Oh, just open the bloody door!" Wilhelm grumbles from behind us. "She has a point; the sooner you kids man up, the better."

"Oh, thanks." I mutter sarcastically, hoping he won't hear. But, being that this car isn't exactly enormous and we're all squished in, he hears anyway.

"You're welcome." He replies, just as sarcastically as my 'thanks'. "Curly, open the door. The sooner I'm out of here, the better. I need a bed."

"You mean 'table'." I correct. Betony sniggers. I swear I hear Wilhelm growl, like a wolf.

"Hold on, did you just say '_table_'?" Baxter asks from behind us. It takes me a moment to remember that he and Haymitch don't know about Wilhelm's… Habit of table-sleeping.

"She said bed." Wilhelm insists.

"It sounded like…"

"Bed." Wilhelm interrupts him. "It sounded like 'bed'."

There's a very awkward silence in which no-one speaks. Then, I guess Haymitch has grown bored of the silence as there's a rush of summer air from outside as he opens the car door and jumps out. I start to shuffle along the seats and swing my legs onto the concrete outside, letting go of Betony's hand as I do so. She jumps out behind me, grabs my hand again almost immediately.

"Don't let go." She whispers anxiously. "Please?"

"I won't." I promise, giving her hand a quick reassuring squeeze. Haymitch pushes past us and helps Wilhelm to get the seat he had been sitting in before pushed down and forward. Wilhelm steps out and casually strides in the direction of the Training Centre, as though the cameras aren't even there.

Speaking of which, Haymitch wasn't lying. There's a hell of a lot of cameras out here, trained on us, on our mentor. Baxter gives them a shy, awkward little wave.

"Let's hold hands." He says, turning to face the rest of us.

"_What_?" I ask, confused.

"That's actually not a bad idea." Haymitch agrees. "That way we'll come across as friendly, as allies. It'll be different; we'll stand out against the others. And standing out generally means more sponsors."

Both the boys and Betony have their eyes anxiously trained on me, awaiting my answer. I give a reluctant "Fine." Baxter grabs my free hand and Haymitch takes Betony's.

"Operation: Hold Hands is ago." Baxter says into an imaginary walkie-talkie in his free hand. I roll my eyes.

"You read _way_ too many comics." I inform him.

Delicia and Wilhelm have reached the doors. They're waiting for us. Delicia's arms her folded and her face is wearing a look that screams 'hurry up!'. Wilhelm looks amused. He has noticed 'Operation: Hold Hands'.

"Let's go." Haymitch says. So we do.

It's like you can _feel_ the cameras on you. I become conscious of every step I make, every breath I take, knowing that all of Panem will be watching. That my parents will be watching. That Anise and Macy are sitting back home in District 12 this very moment, watching as I walk toward my training centre for the Hunger Games, holding hands with _Baxter_ of all people, and a little girl I don't think I'd ever even spoken to before the Reaping.

We reach the doors, and it feels like we've been walking seconds and hours at the same time. Delicia ushers us inside, shuts the glass door on the Capitol public outside. I look around for Wilhelm, the thought that she's shut the door on him suddenly, and somewhat randomly, springing to mind. There he is, thank God! Hands in his pockets, bags under his eyes. When we reach our floor, his first action is going to be to find a table.

"That was… An interesting stunt." Our mentor comments.

"I thought it was _adorable_!" Delicia coos. "District 12, all together in this!"

"Mission accomplished." Haymitch whispers. I shake my hand out of Baxter's, but keep hold of Betony's. I promised, after all, that I wouldn't let go. She's still holding fast to Haymitch's hand as well as mine.

"Now," Delicia explains. "We're on floor 12, because that's our district number!" She says it as though this is the most excitingly fascinating piece of information ever.

She scurries over to a lift in the corner and pushes a button. Seconds later, the doors open. She ushers the four of us in, as well as Wilhelm, before stepping in herself. Delicia mans the control panel; us tributes don't know how to and Wilhelm is content with simply staring at the lift wall with his hands in his pockets.

The lift stops and the doors open. Delicia trots out. Betony makes to follow, dragging me and Haymitch along with her. Baxter follows behind us with an amused smirk on his face. I look over my shoulder and glare at him.

'Just you wait.' I mouth at him. This does nothing except widen his grin. Annoyed, I whip my head back round to the front.

Not a good plan. Now there's hair in my face.

I try and splutter said hair out of my mouth.

"Bet," I hear Haymitch say. "I think Maysilee might need her hand back." I feel Betony's grip on my hand loosen and then it's fallen away completely. Gratefully, I use both hands to take my Alice band off and try to push my long blonde hair back where it goes, behind my head where it isn't so much of a nuisance.

"Delicia, do you have a scrunchie?" I ask our escort agitatedly; apparently Alice bands aren't all that effective.

"Not on me, no." Our escort replies. "You'll meet your stylists later; they'll probably have plenty of hair accessories for you to play with."

"I don't want to _play_ with it; I want to tie my hair back." I grumble.

Delicia carries on like she hasn't heard. "Now, you'll be room-sharing once again." She informs us. "Betony and Maysilee, Haymitch and Baxter."

I catch Haymitch shaking his hand from Betony's out of the corner of my eye as we follow Delicia up a set of three steps to a hall containing four doors. Four bedrooms, I presume.

"This," Delicia taps a door. "Is my room. This is _always_ my room. This," She taps the door beside it. "Is Wilhelm's door. Do not enter Wilhelm's room. No matter _what_ you hear."

The four of us exchange confused glances but quickly look back to our escort as she taps the door across from Wilhelm's.

"This is the boys' room." She explains, trotting over to the door opposite hers, beside the boys' one, and tapping it. "And this is for you lovely ladies."

"Thank you, Delicia." Betony says brightly, scampering up to the door. "Come on, Maysilee."

"I'll come and get you for dinner in a few hours." Delicia calls as Betony opens the door and scurries inside. "Your stylists will be there; they'll get you into your parade outfits after dinner."

"Parade?" I ask, confused. But Delicia is already walking down the hall, down the three steps I mentioned, and into that living room area we walked past just now. Wilhelm shrugs and follows her, hands still in pockets.

"It's where they dress us up in cheesy outfits and make us ride a chariot together." Haymitch explains. "How can you forget?"

"Oh, I remember." I say, because I do. "We're going to be in rubbish coalminer outfits, aren't we."

You're supposed to be dressed up in something that represents your district. For us, District 12, it's coal-miners. Every year. We never catch the eyes of any potential sponsors because we're dressed up in coal-miner costumes. What's remotely exciting about that? It seems we get the stylists with the least imagination.

"Most likely." Haymitch agrees, walking over to his door and opening it. "See you later." And he's gone. Baxter gives me a small smile and follows him, closing their door.

I'm standing in the hall, listening to Delicia's babbling on to Wilhelm about something in the lounge area three stairs and a hallway away. Then there's the sound of footsteps. They come up the steps, down the hallway. And it doesn't register in my brain, not until I feel someone walk into my back. They hardly budge, but I'm flying forwards. I manage to put my arms out just in time, before my face whacks against the carpet.

So now I'm lying on my stomach. I stand up and examine the carpet burns across my palms and on my knees. They're red, they're sore, they look quite raw. And they sting. But I'm enterring the Hunger Games; I need to man up!

"That's a stupid place to stand." Wilhelm tells me off, opening his door and walking into his room, shutting it behind him rather loudly. Hmm… I wonder if he has a table in there...

"Maysilee!" I jump at the sound of my name. Thank God it's just Betony, peeking out from behind the open door to our room. "Are you coming?"

"Yeah," I confirm, stepping into our room. She shuts the door behind us.

"Isn't it awesome?" She grins.

It's a larger room than our one from the train, but then I suppose it would be. There's one bed effectively in the centre of the room, though the head end is pressed against one wall. Beside this bed is a set of drawers, which are probably made of wood but have been painted white. The second bed is pressed into the far corner. There are no drawers next to this one. The floor is carpetted in blue, the walls painted a matching shade of green. Safe for one wall; that's covered in a very realistic picture of a giant fruit bowl.

"Yeah," I say again. What else am I supposed to say?

Betony hurries up to the set of drawers. She picks something up off of them that looks a little like a TV remote. Curiously, she sits down on the bed beside the drawers and examines the remote-thing.

"What do you think this does?" She asks. I kick my shoes off and walk across the room, sit on the bed beside her.

"I'm not sure." I say. Because you can't answer _that_ question with 'yeah'.

"Let's see." Her eyes are sparkling, her mouth curving up into that excited smile she got when she saw the taps in the bathroom on the train. She holds the 'remote' in the palm of one hand and reaches out with the index finger of her other hand. Quickly, as though she fears it might bite, she taps the button and pulls her finger away again.

The giant fruit bowl on the wall opposite us shimmers a little and changes to a forest. An enormous, detailed, incredibly realistic, moving forest. The trees even sway as though there's a breeze in the room which, trust me, there isn't.

The two of us stare at this forest-wall for a moment. Then I stand up, slowly make my way up to the wall, and reach out a hand. It might _look_ real, but it certainly isn't. My palms meet the hot, glassy texture of a screen.

"It's probably supposed to calm us." I tell her. We're probably supposed to find a picture of something we find soothing, to calm our minds before the Games.

"Probably." She agrees. She hits the big button again. The forest shimmers, changes to a cityscape. The Capitol. It's actually a street in the _actual_ Capitol. You can see all of the people walking up and down with their funny-looking fashions, shopping and gossiping like no tomorrow.

Betony hits the button again.

I recognise it, but I don't know where from. It's a large field, with grass that's green and long, rippling like water with each breath of wind. The sky is blue, dotted with one or two light fluffy clouds. I turn back, away from the screen, and look at Betony.

"It's like the meadow." She states. "Only it's bigger, more green. And the meadow has a fence around it."

The meadow… The meadow… Oh, _that_ meadow! The meadow on the outskirts of District 12, beside the woods. I've never been to the meadow, only looked at it from within District 12. It's surrounded by an electric fence and, even if you somehow got over that, Peacekeepers don't take too kindly to people who escape into the meadow and the forest beyond.

"Can we keep it on this one, Maysilee?" Betony asks. "_Please_?"

"Alright." I agree. Because, I'll admit, it is a pretty meadow.

"What can we do?" She asks, putting the remote back down on the drawers and looking around for some form of entertainment, now that the novelty of the picture-changing wall has worn off.. Her eyes stop on me and she starts giggling.

"What?" I ask, looking down at my clothes and suddenly feeling very self-conscious. "Betony, what's so funny?"

"There's some string hanging off of your sock." She laughs. I look down. She's not lying. It's trailing across the floor, right back to the door. I walk over to the bed and pull my knee up to my face, rest my foot on the edge of the bed so that my knee's bent upward. I manage to pull the long piece of white cotton free of my sock.

"What now?" I ask her.

"Cat's cradle?" She suggests hopefully. I sigh, but begin tying the line of cotton into the required loop anyway. We _do_ have a few hours to kill, after all.

* * *

**I know it's not the KatnissxPeeta hand-holding of the books, but it seemed like it could be sweet. It's kinda going from the idea that the 74th Games echoes this one in some ways: a District 12 victor, said victor defies the Capitol and gets into trouble etc.**

**Seriously though, guys. If there's anything you find inaccurate in this, let me know. Or if there's just something you like, something you don't like. So long as you're respectful and polite. **


	8. CocaCola and Stylists

**Thank you, guys :D In this chapter, we get to meet the stylists!**

* * *

By the time Delicia arrives to call us for dinner, Betony's hands are tied to mine in a tangle of strings perhaps a million times more muddled than the last time. She puts her hands on her hips and rolls her eyes. Betony and I, who are sitting cross-legged on the fantastically comfortable carpet of our new room, look up at her and offer a sheepish smile.

"What a _fantastic_ first impression our stylists are going to have of our District 12 tributes this year." Our escort groans sarcastically. She has officially been around Wilhelm for too long.

"Stylists?" I repeat.

"Yes, Mary-See," She confirms eagerly. "Stylists."

"It's _Maysilee_." I correct grumpily, standing up and, consequently, dragging Betony up with me. "What sort of a name is 'Mary-See'."

"Mary-C sounds like a rapper name." Betony giggles. I hold back my own snicker as Delicia lets out a loud and melodramatic 'humph!', storming toward our door.

"Wilhelm is waiting with the stylists as the dinner table." She tells us as she walks out. "I'm just getting the boys."

"Come on, Betony." I say once our escort is safely out of the room and probably into the boys' one next door. "Let's go meet our stylists."

When we reach the dinner table, I have to physically bite my bottom lip from bursting into giggle fits. Twice the number of tributes means, so it would seem, twice the number of stylists; there are four of them.

Wilhelm's at the head of the table, as per usual. Beside him, but round the corner of the table, sits a man with a pointed blue moustache which appears to be catching lots of light, because it's shining. Either the moustache is plastic, or he's covered it in hair-gel. Lots of hair gel. Directly next to him is a man with skin that is green. Literally _green_. His head is shaven all over, safe for a little bit on either side. He makes Mr. Shiny Moustache look normal. Next to the green man is a petite woman with hair such a vibrant cherry-red that it is almost certainly a wig. She has incredibly thick black eyelashes. They're probably fake eyelashes, thinking about it. Then, completing our set of odd-looking stylists, is another woman. She isn't dyed a colour, but she has some odd tattoos nonetheless. They look like vines, crawling up her arms. Due to the v-neck cut of the purple zebra-print dress she's wearing, I can see that these incredibly realistic vines curl across her chest and up, around, her neck. They stop on her left cheek, where they appear to blossom into an intricately coloured red rose.

And they're trusting these guys to make us look pretty? Oh, dear God, save me now.

We stop walking just beside Wilhelm. I don't know where to sit; our stylists take up all of one side of the table, and I'm not particularly eager to sit opposite them. Our mentor looks up at the two of us and lets out an agonised sigh.

"Can't you two play a game that _doesn't_ involve tying each-other up?" He asked. "Just once?"

"There's supposed to be a move that gets you out of this." I insisted. "I just... Can't remember it."

Wilhelm rolls his eyes and stands up, reaching across the table toward the perhaps-chicken so that he can pull the knife out from the top of it and use it to cut our hands apart. Betony starts trembling.

"Wilhelm, please!" I say before he can come near us with the knife. Betony starts backing away, which means I've got to start backing away too because our hands are all tied together. "Don't you have scissors or something?"

"Nope." He replies. "Honestly, I'm pretty skilled with a knife. You've got nothing to fear."

"It's not me who's scared." I retort.

"Small Girl," Wilhelm says, referring to Betony. She let's out a small squeak in acknowledgement of hearing him address her. "Being scared of knives only shrinks your already miniscule chances of even coming _close_ to winning the Games."

If anything, this makes Betony even more terrified.

"Oh, thanks a bunch." My words are sarcastic.

"Calm down." My head whips round to face this new speaker. I am dimly aware, out of the corners of my eyes, that Betony and Wilhelm do this too.

The new speaker is the green man. He slides his chair back, stands up, and makes his way over to us.

Betony, being the frightened rabbit that she is, darts behind me before he reaches us. This results in me having my hands behind my back and hundreds of strands of string pressing into my side. There are going to be imprints when this is over, I can tell you.

"It's alright." The green stylist assures us. "I used to play cat's cradle with my sister when we were kids; I might be able to help."

Betony cautiously pokes her head round me and peers up at the green man. Unfortunately for me, she's peering up on the opposite side to the one she dashed round me from; my hands are being yanked behind my back!

"Come round this side, sweetie." The green man tells her, gesturing to the opposite side from the one she's currently peering. She obediently does, standing nervously by my side. I lift my hands up, thus dragging hers with me, so that the green stylist can see what sort of mess he's just offered to solve.

"This is quite a pickle you two seem to have gotten yourselves into." He says eventually, having studied our hands and the strands of thread for what seems like hours. "But I think I can fix it."

"No knives?" Betony checks nervously.

"No knives." He promises. I tilt my head to the side, so that I can see the table around the green man. Wilhelm's sitting _on_ the table, the knife sticking up out of the wood beside him. He's watching with a look on his face that says he'll jump up and save us should anything happen. Somehow, I doubt anything will. I shoot him a smirk out of plain habit and cock my head back up straight.

The green stylist takes hold of one of my wrists. I scowl at him, which for some reason makes him laugh. That's weird.

"It's alright, Hon." He explains. "You just need to move it here." He moves my wrist, let's go, takes one of Betony's and moves her hand. "Now, both of you, pull your hands out to the sides. Quickly."

We do so. The string falls loose. Betony shakes her hands free and I'm left with a load of loose string hanging off of my wrists. I slide one hand out and wrap it round the other, sliding it off of my fingers once I'm done.

The green man is already sliding back into his seat when I look up again. Betony is waiting for me, standing just a little in front of me.

"Ready?" She asks. I nod and she scampers off toward the table. I follow behind her.

When we reach the dinner table, Wilhelm jumps off of it and yanks the knife from the wood. Betony sits down in the chair beside the corner, opposite the man with the plastic moustache, and I sit beside her. Wilhelm takes his previous seat at the head of the table.

Once he's sat down, he holds out a hand and looks at me expectantly. It takes me a moment to realise this is his way of saying 'give me the thread'. I slap the bundle of cotton into his hand and his fingers clasp around it, disappearing under the table and re-emerging without it seconds later. He's probably put it in his trouser pocket.

There is some silence, in which the odd Capitol examine me and Betony, and vice versa. The silence is, as is becoming habit, broken by Betony.

"I'm thirsty." She announces loudly.

"It's impolite to start eating before everyone's at the table." The red-haired woman replies.

More silence.

"But I'm thirsty _now_!" Betony complains. "Can't I just drink _something_?"

"Stop being so rude!" The red-haired woman scolds. The green man beside her glares at her.

"Don't be so prim and prissy, Rosalia!" He tells her. "You were young once too, remember?"

"I still had the decency to wait for my guests." She grumbled, but the green man was reaching across the table for a bottle of some brown liquid with bubbles in.

He takes a glass from the top of a neatly arranged pyramid in the centre of the table (someone must've been bored, arranging upside-down glasses into shapes like that), and turns it the right way up. He twists the lid on the fizzy brown drink's bottle and pulls it off, pouring the now-foaming liquid into the cup. He passes it across the table to Betony, who watches the foam settle with an inquisitive look on her face.

"What's with the curious expression, kid?" The man with the plastic moustache asks Betony. "Haven't you ever seen a glass of coke before?"

"The only coke we have in District 12 is the stuff that's like coal." I point out.

"Ah, tough luck." The plastic moustache man dismisses. "You should have a taste."

The brown bubbly liquid in the glass has stopped frothing now, though it's making hissing noises and it's filled with tiny bubbles that are rising and popping or else clinging to the sides of the cups.

Betony stares at the cup, watching the bubbles rise and pop and hiss.

"It's not going to bite you." The red-haired lady snaps, which sets the vine-covered woman next to her off snickering.

"Ignore Rosalia and Sabina." The green man tells Betony. "Rosalia says things she doesn't mean, and Sabina knows nothing."

Rosalia punches his arm, and it looks like it must've been pretty hard because he winces and she turns round to give the vine woman, Sabina, I'm guessing, a satisfied smirk.

Slowly, cautiously, Betony wraps her fingers around the glass and raises it to her lips. She takes a sip, puts it back down on the table, and grins.

"It's good, isn't it?" The plastic moustache man says with a small smile.

"Good?" Betony repeats, her voice filled with disbelief. "It's amazing!"

She picks the cup up and is mid-gulp when we hear the boys' door opening and Delicia trots over, down the steps, across the lounge and over to the table. She sits at the head end, opposite Wilhelm.

"Sorry I'm late!" She apologises, putting two hands either side of her head and readjusting her brightly coloured wig. "Haymitch was in the shower and Baxter insisted we wait for outside."

I turn my head away from Delicia and see Haymitch and Baxter coming down the steps. About half-way across the lounge, they glance at each-other and, by some unspoken agreement, both start running. They're both very fast, but Haymitch reaches the chair beside me first and sits down.

"Ha!" He says, turning to face Baxter and grinning. "You have to sit next to Delicia!"

"I hate you." Baxter growls, slipping into the seat on the other side of Haymitch.

Delicia gives a polite little cough. "Right, if you two are _quite_ done, there are some people I'd like you to meet."

The boys examine the stylists on the opposite side of the table. Baxter appears nervous, though he's clearly trying not to show it. Haymitch, on the other hand, is examining them. Rosalia glares at him, so he just glares back.

"Haymitch," He reluctantly pulls his glare away from Rosalia and turns it on Delicia at the mention of his name. "Your stylist is going to be Leo." The man with the seemingly plastic moustache gives a slight wave of the hand.

"Oh, _boy_." I hear Haymitch mutter under his breath, falling back into a slouch in his chair.

"Bethany," Delicia says.

"It's Betony." Haymitch corrects quickly.

Delicia ignores him. "You're going to be working with Faunus." The green man across from her waves. Betony hiccups.

"Mavis-Lee," Delicia says.

"Maysilee." I correct. Again.

"You're stylist will be Rosalia."

It's all I can do to keep from groaning; she does _not_ seem like a fun lady. She seems more like a grumpy, moody Capitol lady.

"Which must leave Baxter," Delicia smiles at the boy beside her. He pretends to become very interested in his fingernails. "Your stylist is going to be Sabina." Baxter glances up and makes eye contact with the vine-covered woman across from him. She offers him a small, shy smile, which he returns just as nervously.

Before anyone can say anything, Wilhelm has yanked the leg off of the maybe-chicken and is eating it straight off the bone. Delicia shakes her head.

"You may begin eating." She sighs.

Betony immediately dives for the bottle of bubbly brown liquid. Faunus grabs it and holds it above his head where she can't reach it before she can get at it.

"I don't think so, sweetie." He warns. "If you have too much caffeine, you'll be up all night!"

"Caffeine?" Haymitch repeats, and immediately all eyes are on the Seam boy with the wet hair (he _was_ in the shower a few minutes ago, after all). "As in, in coffee?"

"The very same." Faunus confirms.

"Oh, boy." Haymitch mutters under his breath for the second time this evening.

Everyone continues eating. Except me. I am curious.

"What about caffeine?" I whisper, using the guise of leaning across the table in his direction to grab the ketchup in order to make sure no-one else hears.

"We're going to be doing the Opening Parade after dinner, right?" He whispers. I wrap my fingers round the ketchup and sit back down.

"Right." I agree.

"Coffee makes Betony go a_ little_ crazy." He explains.

"'A little' here meaning 'a lot', yes?" I guess. He nods. "Oh, great. What time is she going to get to sleep?"

"Eleven, at the earliest."

"_Great_."

Betony's now bouncing up and down in the chair on the other side of me. Haymitch is probably right.

This is going to be one interesting Opening Parade, to say the least.

* * *

**Yes, I have made Betony a _teeny_ bit hyper. It should spice things up a little. 'A little' here meaning 'a lot'.**


	9. Four's Floor

**It's not the parade. The parade was _going_ to be in this chapter, but there was already so much in it and I didn't want to cram loads in because then people will forget it more easily. Probably.**

**But there's some District 4 tributes :D**

* * *

After dinner was all eaten up, Betony looks like she contains enough energy to power every home in the whole of Panem with electricity for the rest of the year. Her grey eyes are sparkling with mischief and her lips are cast into a very, very excitable grin.

Haymitch thought it was hilarious.

I say _thought,_ because about five minutes ago I pointed out that's _he's_ going to be riding a horse-drawn chariot with her too in a matter of hours. He shut up then.

"Now, dears," Delicia announces, dabbing at the corners of her mouth with a paper napkin. "I believe you will be passed onto your prep teams." She looks at our stylists for confirmation, but it's our mentor who speaks next:

"Try not to fight your prep teams too much." Okay. Weird comment, Wilhelm. Weird comment.

"Why would we want to fight our prep teams in the first place?" Baxter asks, sounding just as befuddled as I feel.

Wilhelm appears to be hiding a smirk. "You're District 12; there's nothing exciting you can do with that unless you… Explore new ways of looking at things…"

"I get it!" I say loudly. Suddenly, all eyes of everyone at this table are on me. I feel a blush creeping into my cheeks; there are nine other people here, plus me, plus the avoxes, after all! "You're referring to that idea the stylists sometimes have of sending the tributes out into the parade stark naked, aren't you?"

Wilhelm smiles smugly, which I'm going to take as a 'yes'.

Apparently Haymitch does too. "We'd_ better_ have clothes! Especially Betony; she's practically a kid!"

"We're _all_ practically kids, Haymitch." I point out.

"She's still the youngest." He huffs.

"There's a hole in my sock!" Betony announces joyfully, adding a gleeful cackle at the end of it. Oh, joy. Joy, joy, _joy._

"Faunus," Delicia says, looking at the green stylist firmly. "Make sure Bethany is given a new pair of socks for the parade."

"I will, Delicia." Something about the calm tone to his voice makes me think Faunus has worked with Delicia for several years now.

"Good, good." Delicia grins. "Now, where exactly are the prep teams?"

"Cheese!" Betony announces.

It looks like everyone's taking the 'ignore her and hope she goes away' approach to this. That actually sounds like a plan… Yes, I think I'll go with that too.

"I think they're on the District 4 floor." Rosalia answers Delicia's question.

"Well, whatever are they doing _there_?" Our escort scoffs.

"Admiring the mermaid costume Maxina has for her tribute." Rosalia says, as though it's self explanatory.

"Oh, has she got the pretty one?" Sabina asks, though I barely catch it; her voice is so, so quiet!

"Yes, the one with the sunshiney hair." Rosalia confirms.

"Lucky." Sabina whistles.

"Well…" Delicia glances at our side of the table. "Main-Siree and Baxter have blonde hair." 'Main-Siree'? Really? My God, I swear the woman's deaf! Maysilee. Main-Siree. How do you get from Maysilee to Main-Siree? More importantly, what person in their right mind would name their daughter Main-Siree?

"This girl's hair looks like it's been spun by angels." Sabina says dreamily. "What I wouldn't give to have hair like hers."

"It can't be _that _exciting." I groan.

The four stylists, not to mention Delicia, give me the most horrified looks I think imaginable. Wilhelm, on the other hand, looks like he might start laughing. He confuses me sometimes, he really does.

"Oh, just you wait until you see her in the parade." Sabina insists. "You'll see."

"But hair just isn't exciting for me!" This is turning into one of those rare conversations where I wish I had the same interests as Macy, just so that I fitted in a little better.

"Most the merchants' kids in District 12 have blonde hair anyway." Baxter cuts in. "It's not all that special." I shoot him a grateful smile over the top of Haymitch's head. Haymitch turns and raises his eyebrow at me, because I am having to sit up straight and lift off my chair slightly to see over him (damn him and his taller-than-me-ness!). I stick my tongue out at him and return my attention to the conversation. I can swear I catch him smirk slightly as he does the same.

"This District 4 girl has _amazingly_ blonde hair though." Sabina insists.

"Gorgeous." Delicia sighs in agreement. "I mean, it's _really_ golden. Not all dirty blonde like yours, Mary-Lee." Humph. At least Mary-Lee is better than Main-Siree, I suppose.

"Oh, thanks." I grumble sarcastically, squeezing more lovely ketchup onto my plate. Hold on a minute… I appear to have eaten everything else. I have a plate full of ketchup and _nothing_ else.

Anxiously, my eyes scan the tabletop for some sort of food that goes well with ketchup. There isn't all that much left.

"Betony," I whisper, leaning over to the side the small girl sits on. "What goes well with ketchup?"

"Bowler hats." She replies matter-of-factly. I roll my eyes and slump back into my chair.

"You're not going to get much out of her." Haymitch whispers. "Well, not much _sense_, at any rate."

"Well," Rosalia says loudly, looking toward Delicia. "If I may be excused? I need to go and get my prep team so that we can… Try and make Donner presentable."

"Good luck, dear." Delicia gushes. "You're going to need it."

I have to really, _really_ concentrate in order to keep myself from growling.

"Actually," Faunus pipes up. "We should get started too. Betony, are you finished eating?"

"I like yellow." Betony replies, though how this classes as a reply I'm not sure. "Yellow's a pretty colour."

"Um… Yes…" Faunus sounds like he's regretting his choice of giving her that coca-cola.

"Donner, let's go." Rosalia slides her chair back and strides purposefully towards the door. I stay sitting for a moment, not feeling too eager about following my apparently grouchy stylist.

"She's not as grumpy as she makes out to be." Leo says, apparently noticing my discomfort.

"It'll be fine." Haymitch whispers. I catch Baxter sitting up, peering at me over the top of Haymitch's head. He gives me an encouraging smile.

"Donner, are you coming?" Rosalia pokes her head round the door.

"Go on, Blondie." Wilhelm says. "She can't kill you before the Games without losing her job."

"Comforting." I tell him sarcastically, sliding my chair back and walking toward the door.

* * *

The elevator pings open at District 4's floor, which is four up from the foyer at the bottom of the building. Rosalia is walking out before the doors are even fully open. I hurry after her, feeling more than a little uncomfortable about being on this floor containing four people who will no doubt be attempting to murder me in a matter of days.

Apparently, such a thought has not crossed Rosalia's mind. Or, more likely, it _has_, she's just ignoring it.

We enter District 4's living room. The carpet is blue-green, the walls a sky blue. There's a crowd of funny-looking Capitol people standing around a mannequin which is wearing a rather skimpy, glittery mermaid costume. District 4's mentor, who I recognise as Mags (you know, from watching the Hunger Games on TV every year), is standing away from the crowd, her arm draped round the shoulders of a crying boy with curly blonde hair that comes out in wisps around his head. He looks a few years older than me.

Mags looks up from the boy.

"Are you here to gawp at Veronica's outfit too?" She asks. She sounds more than a little miffed about the crowd of Capitol stylists and their 'gawping'.

"No," Rosalia snaps. "I'm here for Donner's prep team."

"Donna?" Mags looks at me, smiles a little. "That's a pretty name."

"It's Maysilee," I correct. "Actually. Donner's my last name."

"Sorry." Mags replied. I notice her give the District 4 boy's shoulder a quick squeeze. "This is Jon."

Jon, who's had his eyes cast to the floor for the majority of the time I've been here, looks up and gives me a shy smile. There are tear tracks running down his cheeks, I notice, even if the tears themselves have stopped.

"Jon's little sister was also reaped this year." Mags explains sadly. "She's off with her prep team now."

"I don't like crying in front of Jill." Jon says. His voice sounds very fragile, as though it may break and he'll burst into tears again at any moment. "But now she's not here, I can. I want to get her out alive, I really do. I'm just now sure how I can…" I can see his green eyes filling with tears right in front of me. He squeezes them shut and buries his head in Mags' shoulder. She gives him another reassuring squeeze.

"Sorry, but I can't stand around here gossiping about upset tributes all night long." Rosalia grumbled. "Where are my prep team?"

"You mean_ my_ prep team." I correct. "_I'm_ the one riding a chariot with two boys and a hyperactive twelve year old; I think I at least deserve the chance to call them_ my_ prep team."

Rosalia huffs at me angrily.

Mags detaches her arm from around Jon's shoulders and looks over at the crowd of people.

"Excuse me," She says loudly. "Are there any District…" She looks at me expectantly.

"12." I continue for her.

"District 12 stylists in here?" Mags carries on. "Only Maysilee here is waiting to be made up."

"Maysilee, huh?" I whirl round to find another boy, who is about a head taller than me, is standing only a few inches away. He most certainly was _not_ there a moment ago!

"Yeah, Maysilee." I reply. "You got a problem with that?"

"A pretty name for a pretty girl, that's all." He says, grinning. Woah, this guy is _seriously_ creepy. I'm not sure whether or not that's intentional.

"Come off it, Billy." Says another voice. This one belongs to a girl coming out of one of the doors along the hallway; probably her bedroom. From the long golden hair- and the way the crowd of Capitol citizens in the centre of the room have shut up so they can turn and 'gawp' at her- this is Veronica. Veronica is holding a hairbrush.

"Ah, Veronica." Says Mr. Creepy behind me i.e. Billy. "Nice of you to show your face."

"I was getting my hairbrush, _genius_." Veronica hisses, jumping down the steps and walking over to us. "Who's this?"

"Maysilee." Billy says behind me. I feel a hand on my shoulder and quickly shrug it off, casting a quick glare in his direction before turning to face Veronica again.

"You don't exactly look like much." Veronica informs me blatantly.

"It's the ones who don't look like much that you've got to look out for, or something." I struggle to remember the saying. I think it was 'the quiet ones'… Damn, now I look like an idiot in front of these tall people!

"Hey, Jon," Veronica looks at the boy who was snivelling just a moment before. "Looking at this girl, Jill might actually have a chance."

"I'd appreciate it if you weren't so disrespectful of my baby sister, Veronickers." Jon countered. "Jill could put up a fight, and you know it."

"But I've seen the other Careers, Jonny dear." Veronica cooed. "Your silly little sister really doesn't stand a chance."

Jon looked like he wanted to punch her but, at the same time, his bottom lip was wobbling. He was trying not to cry again.

"Now look what you've done!" Billy growled at Veronica.

"No, I'm alright." Jon insisted, rubbing an eye furiously in an attempt to disguise the tears.

"It's not my fault if he can't see the truth!" Veronica yelled back at Billy, ignoring Jon altogether. "We _all_ know Jill's toast!"

"Donner, come on." I never thought I could feel so pleased about hearing my grumpy stylist's voice. Obediently, I hurried over to her.

Rosalia and three other Capitol people- two women and a funny-looking man- ushered me into the lift. Rosalia tapped the required buttons and we shot back up to District 12's floor.

* * *

I step out, along with the three strangers. Rosalia stays in the lift.

"Aren't you coming?" I ask her.

"I'll see you later." She gives me a scowl and taps some buttons. The lift doors slide shut.

"Um, what's going on?" I ask, looking at these three members of my prep team suspiciously.

"We're going to need to do something with that hair." One of the women says to the others. "It's so _boring_!"

"And her eyes." The man says, nodding. "We need to make them shine; perhaps it will draw attention away from her average-ness."

"I _am_ still here you know." I hiss.

"We'd better get started." The first lady decides. "Sweetie, I'm Delphina. This is Candida," She points at the other woman. "And Justus." She points at the man. "We're going to make you beautiful… Or, at least, mildly pretty."

This sounds fun. Not.

* * *

I'm sitting on the edge of the bath wearing a bathrobe. Apparently there's a special place were stylists and prep teams beautify their tributes, but there's only two per District and Faunus bagged District 12's girl one first. So we're stuck with the bathroom of the District 12 floor.

My three stylists dash out of the room like startled rabbits when Rosalia enters. She stands in the middle of the bathroom, arms folded, and stares at me for a while.

"Why did they dump me with _12_, of all districts?" She grumbles eventually.

"I _can_ hear you, you know." I point out.

"It's just…" She stares at me some more. "Black really doesn't go with your face shape."

"Then don't use black. Duh."

"I _have_ to use black, Donner. You're from the coal district."

Part of me would like to point out we have lots of fantastic things in District 12 that aren't coal. Like strawberries. But another part of me doesn't think it is a good idea to tell Rosalia this, as she seems to be easily angered.

"Listen," I tell her. "I'm sitting in a freezing cold bathroom wearing a bathrobe. Can we get this outfit on please?"

She rolls her eyes. "Fine. But it's going to look terrible."


	10. The Car Driver from Hell

**Okay, we finally have the Parade *applause***

**Disclaimer- I don't own the Hunger Games, anyone, or anything you recognise from it. Credits go to Suzanne Collins for those. Also, Betony has a line in this that comes from an episode of Horrible Histories; I don't own that either.**

**Ooh, and guys, there's a poll on my profile. It's regarding Maysilee's angle for the interviews and stuff. I've got Baxter, Betony and Haymitch, but Maysilee's could be anything.**

**Thanks to those people who already have voted, by the way!**

* * *

God, I hate this. I feel like I'm wearing a bin liner. Or a tent; that seems more appropriate.

It's _supposed_ to be a dress. I think. But it's so baggy and shapeless you wouldn't know. It's pitch black and reaches my ankles. Oh, and it's made of plastic. Like a _real _tent. The 'sleeves' of the tent are too long and too baggy, dangling past my hands like… Well, dangly pieces of plastic. So, basically, I'm wearing a baggy, shapeless 'dress' which looks horrendous.

"I thought the stylists get told our measurements before we show up." I whine to Rosalia.

"It's as big as it was supposed to be on you." She insists.

"This isn't _big_." I grumble. "It's _enormous_!"

"Oh, stop complaining!" She scolds.

"Can I at least have a belt or something?"

"No!" And with that final word, Rosalia pushes me out of the bathroom.

I walk across our floor in the direction of the lift, wondering if my lack of shoes was intentional on Rosalia's part or whether she'd forgotten about them. I'm about halfway across the living room when I hear a snicker.

Furious, and humiliated, I spin round quickly. My hair, which has been washed and brushes repeatedly until it's so weightless I can barely feel it, swishes behind me like some sort of cloak. Who should I find but Wilhelm, stretched out along the sofa without a care in the world.

"Shut it." I hiss.

He doesn't. "My, my, what a flattering bin bag you're wearing, Blondie."

"It's a _tent_, actually." I reply sarcastically, adding a fake smile for emphasis. He cackles gleefully. "Where exactly am I going?"

"Hold on." He jumps off the sofa and walks toward me, stopping a little way in front of me and standing between me and the lift's doors. "Delicia said to wait for you two and then drive you to the parade."

"Two?" I repeat. Hold on a minute… "Wait, let me guess; the boys only have one prep room too?"

"You're smarter than you look, Blondie." I _think_ this is a compliment. "Mind you, you only _look_ about as smart as a goldfish." ...And there's the catch. I should've known; compliments just aren't Wilhelm's thing.

"A highly intelligent goldfish, I assume?"

"No," He shakes his head. "Your typical, bog-standard, swims-round-in-circles goldfish."

"Oh, thanks." I hiss sarcastically.

A door slams and I stand on tiptoe, just to see which of the two District 12 male tributes I'll have the pleasure of accompanying to the opening parade.

Looks like it's Haymitch Abernathy.

As he walks across the room, I examine his outfit. It, like mine, is black, but that's about where the similarities end. He looks like he's wearing a tight black t-shirt which probably restricts his breathing (God knows why he isn't turning blue right before my eyes!) with what appear to be a pair of black combats partnered with some heavy-looking black boots.

It looks considerably less humiliating than this bin-bag of a dress! Not that I'm jealous or anything. At least I can breathe in this thing.

It also looks like his stylists decided to muddy him up a little, because there are smears of black all over his face. It looks like he's rubbed his hands all over a piece of coal and then scratched an itch in his eye, letting his palm drag across his cheeks in the process.

"Thank God, it's you." He sighs, stopping just beside me and Wilhelm. "Don't get me wrong; I like Bet. But she's a little…" He trails off.

"Psychotic?" I fill in. "Cuckoo-bananas? Mental?"

He nods. "Yeah."

"Delicia's already there, waiting for the others." Wilhelm cuts our conversation short. "I'm driving you two there."

"You can drive?" I ask suspiciously. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Haymitch giving him a look just as accusing as my voice.

"Oh, the President made sure of it." Wilhelm says sweetly. Too sweetly. "How else would I make it to all of those hospital appointments and," He shudders. "Parties."

Before I have chance to wonder why he shuddered (parties are fun, aren't they?), our mentor has pushed the button that opens the door. I feel his hand in the small of my back, have no doubt Haymitch does too, and then we're both pushed flying into the lift.

I crash into the opposite wall, just about managing to put my hands out in time before my face smashes into it. Haymitch pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a few steps away from the offending wall.

"What the _hell_ was that for?" He asks angrily.

Wilhelm strides into the lift, pushes the button that will take us to the ground floor, and stands there staring at the far corner, away from me and Haymitch.

"Are you going to answer me?" Haymitch hisses angrily. I look at him, almost willing him to shut up. Thankfully, he gets the hint. Something isn't right, and I'm hoping he's got that.

"Wilhelm," I say gently. "What's up?" I put my hand on his arm, just as an attempt to bring him back to reality.

"Anika?" He whirls round, stares at me with wild eyes. It takes him a moment, but he pulls his arm away from me and shakes his head, as if clearing something from it. Or, at least, trying to. "I should've known." He mutters.

"Should've known what?" I ask.

"She isn't coming back." Wilhelm turns back away from me, facing the wall once again. I take a step back, feeling there's nothing I can say right now. I have no idea who this 'Anika' was, but clearly she's someone important to him. Someone important, but who he's lost all the same.

I'm back against the opposite wall of the lift to the one our mentor's staring at, back beside Haymitch. That's when Wilhelm starts talking again. Only it's in a whisper, and it isn't to us. I'm not sure if it's to himself or if his mind has convinced him he's with Anika again, whoever she was.

"We're safe." He's whispering, over and over. "We're safe, we're safe, we're safe."

"You tried." Haymitch whispers to me. And I know what he means. I tried to fix him, just for the moment, at least.

"Haymitch," I whisper, turning to face him fully. "How are we going to get there? I mean, Wilhelm can't drive in this state."

"I'll figure something out." His grey eyes are sparkling. This can't be good.

* * *

Oh God. I feel sick.

I had a sinking feeling in my stomach the moment I climbed into the front passenger seat of the car. I'd helped Wilhelm into one of the back seats, and strapped him in. He's still babbling about how 'we're safe' and 'Anika' over and over.

Haymitch took his time. I thought he was getting a Capitol person to drive us; you know, someone who could _actually_ drive. Instead, he slipped into the driving seat beside me.

"No." I said flatly. "No, no, no!"

"Yes, yes, yes!" He grinned, starting the car up.

And that was that. That's why we're hurtling down the road at what feels like a million miles an hour. I could check the little screen that tells you _exactly_ how many miles per hour we're travelling, down to two decimal places, in fact, but I squeezed my eyes shut long ago. And I'm not opening them until I'm certain we've stopped.

"It's alright, Mays." I hear Haymitch say. I think. The roar of the engine is too loud to be sure of any other sound.

"I'll believe you when we're there in one piece!" I yell over it. I hear him laugh.

When the car eventually stops outside the building where the parade starts off, where we get into our chariot and the like, I've still got my eyes squeezed shut. When I hear the engine cut off, I cautiously open one eye. Haymitch pokes my shoulder repeatedly.

"Stop it." I growl, opening my other eye so that I can glare at him. "I'm sure what you just did is illegal."

"What_ we_ did, sweetheart." He cackles.

"I hate you." I open the door with the intention of walking round and opening the back car door so that I can drag Wilhelm out. Only the pavement is swarming with camera-people, and suddenly I'm feeling all embarrassed. Stupid bin-liner.

Haymitch clambers out through my open car door, slams it shut behind him. He takes one look at the camera crews, all eager to get shots of us, and shrugs his shoulders, pushing me aside and heading for the back car door.

And then District 4 show up, and the camera crews swarm their car before they even have chance to get out of it. I catch a door open, see Jon with a girl who looks about my age wrapped in his arms forcing their way through the sea of people toward the building. I guess this is Jill. She's nowhere near as fragile as her brother was letting on.

"Mays, come on." Haymitch yanks the door open, stepping aside. I get the hint. I take a few steps over, lean inside the car and unbuckle Wilhelm's seatbelt. Carefully, I guide him out.

"What do we do with him?" I ask the Seam boy, standing with my arm hooked round Wilhelm's arm.

"Take him inside." Haymitch decides, slamming the car door shut and locking it. He slips the keys into a pocket on those fantastic black combats of his (not that I'm jealous of his parade outfit) and grabs Wilhelm's other arm. He drags the two of us toward the building.

Inside, it's big. _Really_ big. Haymitch looks around a minute before he catches sight- as do I- of a giggling Betony waving frantically. She's sitting on someone's shoulders. It takes me a moment to recognise the boy in the overly large black wizard's cloak is Baxter. What the hell do these stylists think miners' uniforms look like?

Haymitch drags us over. Delicia is standing with Baxter and Betony. She examines Haymitch's outfit with a critical eye before turning to look at mine.

"Recycling is in fashion right now." She states.

Great. Even my escort think my 'dress' looks like it's made from bin liner.

Haymitch lets go of Wilhelm's arm so that he can lift Betony down from Baxter's shoulders. At least her outfit, though crazily inaccurate, makes her look even more adorable than she was before. It a dress, ending just below her knees. It's black, trimmed in little diamonds. I vaguely remember Macy telling me that diamonds are made from coal. I can't see how something so messy, so dark, so staining, could ever possibly become something clear, shiny and beautiful.

I use the fact that I'm the only one holding Wilhelm as a chance to move my hand from his arm to his back. So that I can push him toward Delicia.

Note how I said _toward_. I didn't mean to send him hurtling into her, and I certainly had no intention whatsoever for her to be bowled over onto the floor, our deranged mentor lying on top of her, still muttering about safety and Anika.

But, you've got to admit, it's pretty funny.

Delica manages to push our mentor off of her and stand up, straightening her wig back and fixating a firm glare on me before turning it to my sniggering District partners.

"That wasn't very funny, Maysilee." She growls. My God, she got my name right! This calls for celebration!

Or not… It looks like we're supposed to be getting into our chariots right about now.

Baxter climbs in first. He holds his hands out for Betony, who's jumping up and down. She takes both of his hands in her own little ones and he hauls her up into the carriage beside him. Haymitch climbs up and stands behind her, so she can't fall backward. I take my place behind Baxter.

"It's alright, Bax," I whisper, resting my chin on his shoulder. "If you fall out, I've got you."

He snorts. "I think I'd flatten you."

"True that." I agree. He's taller than me. And wider. If he falls backwards, well… Let's just say that's one sure-fire way of making a Maysilee pancake.

I stand on tiptoes and look around. Most tributes are in their chariots now. I catch sight of Jon- he gives me a small wave. I wave back. I turn back to our chariot to find Haymitch watching me with raised eyebrows.

"My stylists were gawping over one of the District 4 girls." I mutter by way of explanation. "I met them then."

Haymitch is watching them. I turn my head back to face them. Billy waves far less subtly than Jon did. Veronica turns round to see where the boys are looking, glares at me, and elbows Billy. He quickly turns to face the front. Jon shrugs, ruffles Jill's hair (causing her to scowl at him) and turns to the front too.

"Well," Haymitch whispers in my ear. "He's not wearing very much, is he?"

Billy. He's talking about Billy. That much is obvious. He's wearing some sort of green, shimmering fishtail and that's it. Nothing from the tummy up.

"District _4_, Haymitch." I whisper back. "It shouldn't come as such a surprise."

"Taken a shine to you, though."

I elbow him. "He has not. He's wrapped round Veronica's little finger like a… Bandage."

"Bandage?"

"Yeah, well, pretend she broke it or something." Lame come-back, Maysilee. Lame.

There's a loud uproar of cheers. I look around for the enormous television screen, finding it's forward and to my left a little. District 1 have just left. Their District supplies luxury goods for the Capitol, so their outfits always go down a storm; shiny and glittery, covered in all manner of jewels.

We watch as District 2 go out. Then 3. As 4's horses start to go, Jon turns back round and gives me another wave, which I return. I catch Haymitch roll his eyes, so I elbow him.

Eventually, it's our turn; District 12. The applause, I am certain, has quietened down a lot. Because, let's face it, we're wearing black. Nothing really exciting about _that_.

We're about halfway along the route when Betony falls. Only it isn't backward into Haymitch; it's forward.

Baxter's arm shoots out in front of her to block her from tumbling into the horses and Haymitch wraps his arms round her shoulders to steady her. I feel a little left out.

"Don't do that again, Bet." Haymitch whispers to her, releasing her shoulders but resting a hand on one of them, just in case she stumbles again.

"I'm a sausage!" Betony declares quietly, so that only we can hear. "Sizzle, sizzle, sizzle."

I have to lean on Baxter's shoulder in front of me I'm trying so hard not to laugh. Haymitch, clearly used to this, just rolls his eyes and gives her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

* * *

The chariot stops (eventually), the anthem plays, and President Snow shuffles up to a podium where he proceeds to give his speech. Which drones on. And on. And on.

When it _finally_ finishes, the horses back up and go back the way we came. Finally, finally, _finally_, we're back where we started.

Haymitch gets off the chariot first. Betony jumps at him (which I guess was the intent) and he catches her, spins her round in circles before putting her down.

"Great." He grumbles, staggering around a bit. "I'm dizzy now." But he's grinning, so he can't be that angry.

I jump off next, landing on the floor on my two feet. And feeling very glad Haymitch hadn't tried to catch me, might I add. Because if he tried whirling me round like that, I'm fairly sure he'd end up with a black eye. Or two.

Baxter leaps off the chariot less-than-gracefully beside me.

"Back to the elevator?" He asks.

Before any of us can answer, Delicia is hurrying towards us in those stupidly high heels of hers.

"You were fantastic!" She trills. "And, Bethany, that falling-out-of-the-chariot stunt; I was really worried for a second."

Betony giggles crazily.

Thankfully, Haymitch was listening to the actual words coming out of our escorts mouth after 'Bethany', which is where I assume our youngest tribute zoned out. "It wasn't a stunt; she actually fell."

"Well, it's doing you nothing but favours." She insists. "Come along, back to the car.

I shudder, casting a glance at Haymitch. He smirks at me. Idiot.

"Where's Wilhelm?" I ask Delicia, taking a few steps forward in a far-from-casual attempt to put distance between myself and The Car Driver From Hell.

"The pub, I assume." She spits, like it's some sort of disease. "That's usually where he goes when he starts rambling on about Miss Stabile."

"Who was she?" I ask, assuming 'Miss Stabile' is 'Anika'.

"Some girl from his Games." She dismisses. "Come on, let's get you back. You'll need rest before the training starts tomorrow."

"I want to be a toaster when I grow up." Betony announces loudly. Several of the other tributes turn and stare at us like we're crazy, including half-naked Billy. He gives me a cheeky grin, which quickly falls from his face when Veronica grabs his arm and stalks off with him after Mags.

I don't have time to feel sorry for him as Delicia trots off, Haymitch, hand on Betony's shoulders, guiding our youngest D12 tribute through the various people after our escort. Baxter waits for me to start walking before he does. He doesn't say anything, doesn't need to.

* * *

**Can anyone guess Betony's line from Horrible Histories? I'll say what it was in next chapter, but I'm curious about whether or not anyone else either watches the show or knows the line.**


	11. The Magic of Orange Eyeliner

**In this chapter, we start training! Yay! :D**

**Thank you to the 6 people who have voted in the poll! You are all amazing! And the two people who reviewed last chapter, you are even more amazing!**

**Ooh, and before I forget, the line from Horrible Histories last chapter was 'I'm a sausage! Sizzle, sizzle, sizzle!' Nobody got it apparently, so here we go, you learn something new every day! It's from the sketch with George IV's doctors trying to cure him with a red hot poker. Hopefully I'm making sense to some of you.**

* * *

I didn't get much sleep last night. We got in gone midnight, and Betony was up until the small hours of the morning. And by 'up', I don't mean having a quick shower and sitting in the corner quietly with a book. Oh, no. I mean she was jumping up and down on the bed. The guys from District 11 are going to hate us; the floor was bouncing at one point like there was some sort of earthquake; I actually thought it might break!

So, it now being seven, I'd say I got about… Four hours sleep? Yes, that might be a little generous, but I'd say that's about right.

I drag my feet on the carpet as I walk to the dining area of our floor. I'm still wearing the baggy white t-shirt that reaches my knees and the pair of jogging bottoms I found in mine and Betony's wardrobe. And I'm pretty sure my hair is in a 'dragged through hedge backwards' state.

Delicia's going to go mental when she sees me.

But I really don't care right now.

I'm the last one at the table, so I silently take my place next to Betony. She's smiling and chattering away as she reaches for the butter to spread onto her toast.

At least one of us isn't tired, eh?

Oh, who am I kidding? I'm currently jealous as hell for her apparently tired-less state.

"Mays, you okay?" I hear someone say. It sounds like Haymitch. I look up.

Baxter and Haymitch are across the table, staring at me like I've turned purple or something.

"Mmm." I mumble sleepily, reaching out for one of the croissants and accidently slamming my hand into the butter tub.

Delicia makes 'tsk' noises as I pull my hand out of the butter and suck it off my fingers.

"Let me guess," Haymitch said smugly, smirking. "Bet kept you up all night?"

"Yeah." I manage, looking at the table and trying to decide whether or not it would make a comfortable place for me to put my head.

So _tired_.

"I'm sorry, Maysilee." Betony says. I look up from the table and at my female District partner. She looks like she might cry. "I didn't mean to keep you awake."

"It's alright." I assure her.

She brightens up immediately.

Oh, I wish I had the _energy_ to brighten up.

"You have your first day of training today!" Delicia beams. "Isn't it exciting?"

No-one answers.

Our escort huffs angrily and excuses herself, hurrying away from us like she can't get away quick enough. We hear the door to her room slam shut.

"Any tips?" Baxter asks, looking at our mentor. "You know, for our training?"

"Don't do what you're good at." He tilts his head to the side. "Shouldn't be too hard." He points a finger at Baxter. "You got any talents that might come in useful in the arena?"

"No." Baxter insists. "I'm the Bookworm, _remember_?"

"Yeah, I remember." Wilhelm nods. "Intelligence is good; it's something they don't teach the Careers. Don't die and you're in with a chance." He points at Haymitch. "Curly, talents, go."

"I have an incredible sense of humour." Haymitch jokes. "And I'm devilishly handsome."

"… Neither of which will help you if you're running through the arena with a pack of bloodthirsty Careers on your tail." Wilhelm concludes, adding thoughtfully, "It could help with sponsors though." He points at Betony. "You, tal- there's not really much point in me asking, is there?"

"There is." Betony pouts, which makes her look even younger. "I'm small; people might avoid me and assume I'll be taken by the arena." She suddenly sounds very mature.

"True that." Wilhelm nods. "Your job is act sweet, especially when there are cameras. Blondie,"

"Huh?" I look up, gripping the table with both hands because the world seems to be revolving without me.

"Do you have any talents?"

"I can run pretty fast." I say.

"This isn't the time to compliment yourself, Blondie."

"She can." Baxter interjects. "I've seen her; I used to look after her and her sister. She's like a bolt of lightning."

"Luckily, I don't think they have a running station." Wilhelm says blankly. "Not that you look in a state to run this morning, Blondie."

"I'm tired." I groan, rubbing my eyes with the palms of my hands. When I remove them, there are swirling green lines everywhere for a few moments.

"I said I'm sorry!" Betony panics.

"It's okay." I tell her, resting my elbow on the table and using my hand to prop my head up. "I forgive you. Just don't do it again."

* * *

After breakfast, I'm ushered back into mine and Betony's bathroom by an excited prep team. They make me sit on the edge of the bath whilst one of them, Delphina, dashes off to steal one of the dining chairs for me.

Justus holds the door for her while she drags it in, plonks it in the middle of the room.

"Come on, Silly." Justus says, tapping the chair with a hand, gesturing for me to sit there. He laughs at his joke, but still feels the need to explain it, "Because you're Maysilee, Silee, Silly, get it?"

"Yeah, I get it." I grumble, dragging my feet on the floor as I make my way to the chair. I collapse onto it more than sit.

Candida shakes her head at me. "Silly, you're tired."

_Really_? I hadn't noticed. However, I decide this is probably a little rude, opting to make a tired grunt of acknowledgement.

"Delphina," Candida says loudly in that silly accent of hers. "Fetch me the eyeliner!"

"What?" I ask, visions of panda bears running through my mind before I can stop them. "Won't that make me look _more_ tired?"

"No, Silly," Delphina promises, handing Candida the bottle. "It's not _black_ eyeliner."

Candida shows me the bottle. It's black, with a strip of colour round the lid; the colour the eyeliner is, I presume.

Orange.

Oh, God, kill me now.

* * *

I'm standing in the bathroom, wearing nothing but a bathrobe, in front of a mirror. Crazy as it may sound, I've got to admit it; my eyes don't look so tired. They look slightly bizarre, with orange eyeliner and all, but they don't look _tired_. It's a nice bizarre. But it's not _me_.

Delphina stands behind me, trying to work the tangles out of my hair with a comb.

"Did you brush this when you woke up, Silly?" She asks.

"Nope." I reply honestly.

She huffs grumpily and works at it harder.

* * *

When Rosalia comes into the bathroom with my training outfit, my hair has been brushed. It feels like half of it's been pulled out at the roots, Delphina brushed it so hard, but it doesn't look it. No, it _looks_ like I haven't lost any. But, despite that, my head is tingling like it's covered in pixie dust.

Maybe if I think happy thoughts, I'll fly.

Somehow I doubt that. Still, maybe it's worth a shot. Strawberry jam. Honey sandwiches. Melody chasing Macy round the room. Anise's pretty smile, the one she only does when she's _really_ happy. Blue skies. Petrichor.

"Donner!" My stylist's voice snaps me out of my happy thoughts. She throws a forest green t-shirt and a pair of black leggings at me. "Put these on."

"I need underwear!" I insist. If she thinks I'm going into the Training Centre without _that_ essential item, she can think again. I'm not leaving this bathroom!

Rosalia sighs. "Go get some from your bedroom."

I thank her and hurry out of the bathroom, into mine and Betony's bedroom.

It takes a hell of a lot of strength to avoid my bed. It doesn't help that I swear it's calling my name, begging me to lie on it 'just for a minute'.

"But it won't be 'just for a minute'." I remind it stubbornly. "It'll be hours, and I'll be in big trouble."

I open the wardrobe, grab some undies, put them on. I throw my dressing gown over my shoulder and enter the bathroom again.

Rosalia throws the t-shirt and leggings at me the moment I'm through the bathroom door. I hold the t-shirt between my teeth as I pull the leggings on before pulling said shirt on over my head.

"Do I get shoes?" I ask.

"Dining room." Rosalia hisses. "Now, be off with you."

I can't get away quick enough.

* * *

When I reach the dining room, I find my shoes sitting on the table. Haymitch and Baxter are discussing something or another, sitting on the table rather than in chairs. Oh, if Delicia could see them… It'd be hilarious! For me, anyway.

"Wait," I say as I grab my shoes and pull a chair out. I sit in the chair, pull one of my legs onto my lap, and begin slipping one of the black trainer-boot-shoe things onto it. "How come you're _both_ here?"

They glance at each-other and then at me.

"You _do_ realise we don't usually have stylists look us over before training, right?" Baxter says. "The only reason _you_ did is because Delicia realised you'd look like a walking corpse this morning and called Rosalia last night. She said," Cue bad Delicia impression. "We can't possibly have Missy Lee looking like a zombie; no, then she'll look like an easy kill. Besides, zombies aren't stylish! No! Rosalia will have to come and sort her out tomorrow morning!"

"So I just went through two and a half hours of hell for _no reason_?!" I conclude.

"Yep." Haymitch confirms smugly.

I take the shoe that isn't yet attached to one of my feet and hit him round the shoulder with it.

He winces and goes to slap me, but Baxter holds him back. "We aren't in the arena, guys! Stop it!"

"She started it!" Haymitch insists.

"And I'm finishing it." Baxter tells him sternly.

I stick my tongue out at Haymitch before slipping my foot into the other shoe and pulling up the laces.

Betony's up on the balcony with Delicia and Wilhelm, so the boys say. Wilhelm's giving her a little bit of extra tuition in standing up for herself, because she's so tiny and helpless.

I think the sponsors should just send her caffeine in the arena. She'd be unstoppable.

At ten o'clock, Delicia and Betony come dashing down the stairs from the rooftop which I have yet to explore. I add that to my list of things to do before I die. It's joining 'visit an active volcano' and 'see the aurora borealis'. Neither of which I'm going to get to do now. This sucks.

"Goodness, look at you!" Delicia beams at me. "Stand up!" I slide my chair back and do so. She grips my shoulders and examines every detail of my face, attire and hair. "I _knew_ calling Rosalia was a good idea! Her team can work wonders; you look fantastic!" She squints a little as she looks at my eyes. "Orange eyeliner! Who'd have thought it! It really suits you, dear!"

I refrain from saying anything, as I'm convinced whatever I say will be the wrong thing. I'm still tired, even if I don't look it, and Delicia giving me compliments is more than a little confusing at the best of times.

* * *

The lift takes us to the first floor. Delicia leads us across the foyer to a door and opens it.

Ta da! Training centre!

We're the last tributes there, so everyone turns to stare at us like they do when you're late to class. The four of us shuffle over nervously. Delicia trots to the door and leaves, but not before giving us an enthusiastic wave. Much to our embarassment.

We join the other tributes in standing in a circle as a lady- called Atala, apparently- explains the rules; don't kill each-other, don't attack each-other, lunch is at twelve- all that business.

She sends us off to get started. The Careers- Districts 1, 2 and 4- head off immediately. The rest of us just stand there, feeling slightly lost.

I feel a hand slip into mine and look down. Betony smiles up at me. "Can I stay with you? Please? I won't be annoying."

I smile and give her hand a reassuring squeeze. "Of course."

"No running." Baxter whispers in my ear mock-sternly as he walks off to try something new.

"I wouldn't dream of it!" I call after him.

I can hear his laugh over the voices of everyone else.

"Mays," I whirl round, pulling Betony round with me.

"Haymitch," I reply curtly.

"Steer clear of the merman from D4." He warns. It seems sincere, but I'm not sure why I should steer clear of Billy. Veronica seems far worse.

"I'm more concerned about Veronica than Billy if I'm honest." I tell Haymitch. "But I'll stay away from them both. Happy?"

"Happy." He nods. "No running, remember?"

"_Yes_." I drag it out, annoyed that both the boys feel the need to remind me. Like Baxter before him, Mr. Abernathy walks off laughing.

"What should we do?" Betony asks, looking around.

"I want to sleep." I reply.

Betony giggles. "We can't do that, Maysilee!" She looks around a bit more. "I want to try the archery!"

I manage to successfully suppress my laugh- how, I'll never know- as Betony drags me toward the archery station. As she picks a bow- a small, light one- my eyes scan the rest of the room. They find Veronica, who glares at me fiercely and carries on with what she's doing. I ignore her and keep looking.

And then I see Haymitch, who shakes his head at me like I'm doing something very naughty and he's telling me off. Confused, I turn back round to watch Betony shoot some arrows (not nesscarily hitting the target). That's when I catch Billy.

He's helping Betony hold her bow, adjusting her fingers here, moving her hand down a little there. With his guidance, she hits the target. Not in the middle, nearer the edge, but hey, I was expecting her to miss it completely.

I look back over my shoulder. Haymitch is watching Betony and Billy. He looks at me, back at them, and I get the message; Sort. It. Out.

But Billy doesn't seem to be doing anything wrong, does he?

* * *

**Reading it through, the ending seems a little confusing. I'm not sure, it seems more confusing than it's supposed to... Hopefully I can clarify stuff next chapter.**

**In Maysilee's happy thoughts, I just had to put petrichor; it's one of my favourite happy things too. It's a real thing, but anyone who watches Doctor Who should get what it is (more specifically, the episode The Doctor's Wife).**

**Actually, I'm curious now... Anybody besides me know what 'petrichor' means?**


	12. Knives and Teletubbies And Jam

**Oh my goodness, EIGHT VOTES! We still have a tie at the moment, though, so if you haven't voted then it would be most appreciated :)**

**And thank you, thank you, thank you to ClamKidToTheRescue and yasmincheesecullen for your reviews. It's great to know people out there like reading this stuff :D**

**And congratulations to ClamKidToTheRescue for getting the Horrible Histories quote!**

* * *

I take a step toward Billy and Betony. Unsure, I look back over my shoulder. Haymitch, still across the large hall-like room from me, folds his arm and taps his foot impatiently. I turn back to Betony and Billy.

"Um, Billy?" I manage to say.

He looks up from Betony. "Yes, Miss Donner?"

"We're going now." I tell him, attempting to sound brave but knowing full well I sound like a little mouse.

"Awwwww…" Betony drags out her disappointment. Part of me is certain she's purposely trying to make me feel bad. "We only just got here!"

"I know." I tell her. Because, trust me, I do. "But Stroppy-knickers is getting jealous?"

"Who?" Betony squints at me in her confusion.

Billy looks over my head with ease (damn his height). I turn round and catch Haymitch glaring at him. I stick my tongue out at him and turn back to face Billy.

"It's okay," He tells me. "I get it."

Thank God! Now I don't have to explain how Haymitch got all grumpy with him for having evil stylists with an exposed flesh obsession during the victory parade.

"You two make a lovely couple." Billy adds, giving my shoulder a quick squeeze and sauntering off to join Veronica over at the camoflague station.

I stand there for a moment, opening and closing my mouth like I'm some sort of demented goldfish out of water.

"Maysilee?" Betony says, tugging my wrist. "Are you broken?"

I pull myself back together and offer the younger girl a weak smile. "No, I'm fine." Then, as an afterthought. "Let's go pay Haymitch a visit, hey?"

"Okay." She hangs her bow back up on the rack and takes my hand. We walk across the large room (I'm not allowed to run, remember?), stopping at the berry identification area. Haymitch looks up from what he's doing. He's the only one at the station beside the instructor, who seems happy enough to have him. He looks up at her, excuses himself, and hurries over to us.

If it wasn't for the fact that Betony's beside me, hanging off my arm, I'd slap him right here, right now.

Luckily, he seems to be relatively good at reading emotions. "What happened?"

"Thanks a bunch, Curly." I growl through gritted teeth. "Billy thinks we're a '_lovely_ couple' now." I can only hope my disdain is evident in my angry snarling voice. I should think it is.

However, it apparently isn't evident enough. Haymitch drapes his arm round my shoulders casually. "Could be worse."

"Get off of me!" I mutter, shaking my shoulders in a vain attempt to dislodge his arm. "People are going to get the wrong idea!"

"Ummmmmmmm…" Betony drags out, in that childish way that little kids to when they catch someone doing something naughty. "What about Frances?"

"I doubt I'll be going home again, Bet." Somehow, Curly manages to make this sound like a good thing. "May as well have fun while I can, right?"

"I _really_ hate you right now." I hiss at him.

"Of course you do." He agrees, so brightly that I think he's being sarcastic.

Betony slips her hand from mine. "I'm going to go see if he's ok." She explains, pointing across the room. One of tributes- D8, I think- is sitting on the floor in front of the climbing wall, crying his eyes out. My guess is he just fell. I nod my head at Betony and she dashes over to him.

I get time to watch her crouch down in front of him, and it looks like she's asking him if he's alright. She holds out a hand and pulls him up.

Dawwww, she's made herself a little friend.

It's the voice of the annoying weirdo with his arm draped round my shoulders that brings me out of this wonderful little thought process. "Cute, huh?"

"Off." I grumble, able to duck and slip out of his grip that way now that I don't have Betony swinging from my other arm.

"Where are you going?" He asks suspiciously, folding his arms.

"Away." I respond vaguely; in all fairness, I haven't got a clue where I'm going to, other than it's not here.

"Just don't go back to What's-his-face." Haymitch warns.

"M'kay." I say, mostly to get him off my case. Haymitch nods, satisfied, and returns to the berries stand with the trainer lady, who's been waiting patiently.

I head toward Jon and his sister, Jill. They're not Billy and Veronica; Haymitch can't get grouchy with me, can he?

Jon and Jill are at the knife throwing station. Jon looks pretty panicky about something. It's only as I get nearer that I realise Jill, who has her back to me as I approach, is holding one of the smaller knives behind her back, out of her brother's sight.

"Jill, this isn't funny!" He says, looking over at the instructor for this station. She's helping one of the boys from 2 perfect his aim; he doesn't really need much help, by the looks of it. I make a mental note to avoid him in the arena at all costs.

"What's up?" I ask, stopping beside them.

"We've lost one of the knives." Jon says in a shaky tone. "We're so dead!"

I look over at Jill and raise an eyebrow. She takes the knife from behind her back and puts it back in the stand, adding in an eye roll for good measure. "Can't I at least have a chance to use it?" She whines.

"No." I'm starting to think Jon's a little overprotective of a girl who really doesn't need it. If she was Betony's age I'd understand, but she's nearer mine.

"Oh, come on, Jonny." I decide to say, though where 'Jonny' came from I have no idea. "It's better she gets a go now, where there's an instructor to stop her from lopping her own foot off, than in the arena- right?"

"I don't know…" Jon's voice is doubtful. "I… I _suppose_ so."

"Thanks." Jill says quickly, grabbing her knife from before back off of the stand and going to wait behind the white line (which is there so no-one is at risk of being impaled by whoever's throwing knives at the target. Except the instructor, of course). Something tells me she dashed off so fast so her brother doesn't have time to change his mind.

Jon stays standing beside me, but he keeps his eyes on his sister. "I don't think she realises how hard this is for me." I'm not sure if he's talking to me or himself.

"I'm sorry." I tell him, and I mean it. "I have a sister; I don't think I could cope if she was here too."

For the first time in the conversation, Jon tears his gaze from his little sister and looks me dead in the eye. "How old is she?"

"We're twins."

"You must be pretty close then."

I smile to myself, remembering all the times we've argued over the most petty little things. "You could say that."

* * *

At lunch, I sit with Jon and Jill. Betony sits a few tables away from us with her new friend and one of his District partners. They seem to be getting on pretty well. It's quite sweet watching them together, actually.

That's more than can be said for Baxter. He's sitting with the four tributes from District 1. He'd better not have made the decision of joining the Careers. That would be more than just _stupid_. In fact, _that_ would be _suicide_.

Once he's got his lunch, Haymitch comes and sits with me, Jon and Jill.

"Still haven't made your own friends, I see." I can't keep my smirk from appearing.

"Still hanging around with District 4, I see." He says in the same sort of tone.

I elbow him. He's going to regret sitting next to me sooner or later, he really is.

"We're not _all_ ruthless Career tributes." Jon assures him. "All I want is to get my sister out alive."

"And all I want is for him to leave me _alone_." Jill adds.

I take a bite of my jam sandwich. It's incredibly lovely jam; very strawberry-ish. But I prefer Mum's; she used to send me and Macy out to go search the hedgerows for blackberries so she could add them to the jam bubbling away in a pot on the fire. She could've used to hob on top of the oven, but she always said it tasted better if you made it over an open fire.

Sometimes, depending on the time of year and the availability of them, she'd add rose petals, or lavender. It gave the jam a weird taste, but it'd smell, for fear of sounding like Delicia, _gorgeous_.

I'm pulled out of my internal jam conversation with myself by Jill. It appears she's asked me a question.

"Um, yes?" I say uncertainly, hoping that'll be a sufficient answer for whatever question I missed being asked.

She shoots me a confused- and slightly concerned- look and gets up 'to get a glass of water'. Jon shoots me an equally puzzled look before insisting he go after her 'in case she gets into trouble' between here and the water filter. He dashes off after his sister.

"What did I just agree to?" I ask Haymitch nervously.

"Oh, nothing." He says casually. "It was more of a 'do you like this' than a 'do you want to do that' question."

"Could you be more specific?" I'm quite curious to know what the question actually was now.

I felt like I might scream dramatically, you know, so the whole room shakes. But I don't; that doesn't happen in real life. So, instead, I just scowled at the table for the rest of lunch.

* * *

The ride back up to 12's floor after training takes a while, because we have to stop at every single floor so that four people can shuffle off. It doesn't help that Haymitch is standing next to me singing the Teletubbies theme song. He knows for a _fact_ I wasn't listening to the conversation; I'm not stupid, and it's pretty obvious. He just can't pass up a chance to wind me up.

You'd never have thought that before the Reaping we'd hardly even spoken to each-other, would you.

One of the girl's from 11- a kind-looking, dark skinned girl with black hair in cork-screw curls- gives me a friendly smile before stepping off. My frustration must be pretty noticeable then.

The moment the doors slide shut, and it's just the four of us from 12 left on the lift, Baxter speaks up;

"Okay, what the hell is going on?"

Haymitch begins to explain, but starts laughing midway through his first sentence.

"I'll explain." I say, shooting a glare in his direction before turning back to Baxter and a very curious-looking Betony. "We were eating lunch with Jill and Jon from 4,"

"I noticed." Baxter interrupts.

"And I started thinking about jam." Thank God that Baxter's known me long enough not to question that statement. "So, when Jill asked me a question, I didn't know what it was and so I just said 'yes'. It turns out…"

"That Jill said," Haymitch interrupts, now having to lean against the two walls in the corner to keep himself standing up, he's laughing that hard. Cue bad Jill voice here, "'I'm not a baby, Jon. If I was, I'd still watch those rubbish-y kids show. Ooh, do you remember teletubbies? That show made no sense; I can't believe we used to watch that." He goes back to his normal voice now. "When Mays didn't reply, Jill asked if she still watched it or something, as a joke and…" He starts laughing again.

"And you said yes?" Baxter finishes, biting his lip.

I don't answer.

Baxter bursts out laughing. Betony takes a moment, trying to figure out what's going on, but she quickly gets what happened and starts laughing too.

When the lift's doors slide open, I'm the only one not having to lean against the walls due to intense laughter. I stride out before they can follow.

Wilhelm and Delicia are sitting on the sofa in the living room area with Faunus, the other three stylists sitting in comfy-looking armchairs nearby. I walk purposefully past them. I need to reach mine and Betony's room before the boys get out of the lift. _She's_ likely to let this drop. _They_ aren't. Not for a while, at any rate.

* * *

A few hours later, Delicia is standing in the doorway to mine and Betony's room (Betony's been playing or something with Baxter and Haymitch in the living area, so I've had the room to myself).

"May," She says. I suspect she's decided 'May' is easier to remember than 'Maysilee'. "Dinner is ready."

"I'm not hungry." I lie. I am actually starving. Plus, I need caffeine. Tired.

"May!" She shouts.

"Look, Delicia, you're doing it all wrong." I hear Wilhelm's voice shout, presumably from the dining table.

"Well, _you_ sort it out then." She huffs, storming off in the direction of dinner.

I hear footsteps and fold my arms just in time; my mentor stands in the doorway. He folds his arms and mimics my pose- grumpy-looking.

"Eat some food while you still can." He suggests.

"No."

I'm pretty darn horrified when he steps forward, throws me over his shoulder, and carries me- kicking and screaming, I might add- down the steps, across the living area and to the dining table.

He puts me down in a chair between Betony and Baxter. I glare at him as he makes his way to his seat at the head end of the table.

"There have _got_ to be rules against you doing that." I hiss at him.

He attempts a carefree smile, which comes across as more creepy than it is friendly. "My job is to try and make you survive as long as possible, Blondie. If that means I have to force-feed you your dinner, don't think I won't."

"He will." Delicia trills. Immediately, everyone's head turns to face her. She doesn't seem to notice; she dabs at the corners of her mouth with a napkin and takes a bite of her roast potato. "He tied one of the tributes to a chair last year and sat there, feeding him with a spoon. Wouldn't let him go until he'd eaten it all. His District partner was terrified."

"You tied _Wren_ down in a chair?" Baxter asked, wide eyes.

"He wouldn't eat his dinner." Wilhelm replied, as if that explained everything.

I'm really starting to wonder if my mentor can be trusted with our lives or not here. He doesn't exactly seem… stable.

* * *

**Now, because I said I would last chapter, here is a definition of 'petrichor'. **

**Petrichor= the smell you get after a good shower of rain.**


	13. Attacked By A Flowerpot

**Thanks everybody who voted in the poll, and double-thanks to anyone who reviewed last chapter, or added this to their favourites, or their follow/alerts/whatever. Seriously, thank you! I get all excited when I check my emails and see someone else likes this enough to do any of the above (in some cases, all!). So thank you!**

**For the people who voted; there was a tie between 'sarcastic' and 'happy and cheerful'. This is the chapter where you'll find out which one I went with.**

* * *

After dinner, much to Delicia's annoyance, I run off without excusing myself. I glance over my shoulder as I reach the top of the steps, and catch Baxter giving me an all too knowing smirk. I resist the urge to blow a raspberry at him, however tempting it may be, and head toward mine and Betony's bedroom door.

My hand hovers just above the door knob for a minute. I glance down the short hallway, in the opposite direction to where the others are still sitting.

There's a metal staircase, leading up to a little wooden door.

I mentally shrug to myself and start toward the stairs. It's not like I have anything better to do. Besides, I feel like exploring.

The first step seems to buckle a little bit under my weight, which strikes me as a little odd; I was always pretty light. Anise used to pick me up and whirl me round, purely because she knew how much I hated it. And Anise isn't exactly a heavy-lifter. It used to confuse her, at first, just how light Macy and I are…

"_But… But…" A little Anise stuttered. "You live in the sweet shop! How can you be so light?"_

"_We__ don't eat the sweets, silly." My sister laughed._

"_Well…" I added, grinning. "Not when Mum and Dad are home."_

I glance back over my shoulder. No-one seems to be watching; they're all occupied in whatever conversation they're having. Cautiously, I place one foot on the second step. It, like the first, bends a little, but it doesn't break. I bring my other foot up beside it.

I continue up the stairs in this careful manner, casting suspicious glances over my shoulder at the table every once in a while. Eventually, I reach the top. I feel quite proud of myself, until I look down and realise there were only about six steps anyway.

I reach out my hand and push the little wooden door open. It lets out a very loud _'creeeeeeak'_. I bite my bottom lip and look back at the table. Surely they heard that!

No. They've apparently turned to deaf to every noise that isn't part of their little conversation. Alrighty then. I know where I stand.

I step through the door and quickly shut it behind me, wincing at the loud _'creeeeeaaaaak'_ that accompanies this action.

I turn my back to the noisy contraption and look around me.

I appear to be standing on top of the building. This is pretty cool. It takes me a moment to realise that this must be the rooftop Betony, Wilhelm and Delicia were this morning; the one Baxter and Haymitch told me about.

I walk up to the railing around the edge of the rooftop and lean against it, staring at the world below. The amount of people rushing by with armloads of shopping bags is uncanny. It's a sight we never get in District 12, I can tell you.

I notice that the air around the railing seems to shimmer a little. It must be so we can't commit suicide. Or climb down the wall and run away, not that we'd get very far.

To test my first theory, I look around. I find a pot containing a large blue flower, the shade of which isn't natural at all. It must be a Capitol muttation but, rather than an evil killing machine, it's a beautiful genetically engineered flower. I take a clump of the damp, firm soil from the pot and carry it in an enclosed fist over to the edge of the building.

I throw it.

I'm expecting it to electrocute the piece of dirt and settle it back on the floor beside. So, when it comes flying back into my face (with quite a bit of force, might I add), I'm not prepared. It goes up my nose, in my mouth, mats itself into my hair. I can feel it start to dry onto my cheeks almost immediately. I attempt a smile, but this doesn't help at all. It just cracks the drying mud and gets more of the stuff in my mouth.

I try to rub it out of my eyes, spit it out of my mouth, and storm back to the door angrily. If they're all still eating dinner, I should be able to make it to the shower without anybody seeing.

I open the door and freeze.

"Hello, sweetheart," Haymitch smirks. It appears I've walked in just as he and Baxter were heading to their room. Damn, damn, damn, damn. "What happened? Attacked by a mud-monster?"

"What he means," Baxter shoots him a meaningful glare before turning back to me. "Is 'are you alright'?"

"Fine, fine." I say, bounding down the stairs and pushing past them. "And I was attacked by a flowerpot, not a mud-monster."

"Did it have big teeth?" Haymitch snickers. "And red eyes?"

"Yes, actually." I smirk. "Now, budge, I need a shower."

I open mine and Betony's door and head for the bathroom.

* * *

I leave the bathroom wearing a pair of fluffy pyjamas I found in mine and Betony's wardrobe. I have to admit, I'm more than a little shocked when I find all three of my fellow tributes sitting on Betony's bed, as opposed to just the small hyper one.

"Hello!" Betony waves at me brightly. "We were just talking about our angles for the interviews."

"I thought that's something we discuss with Wilhelm." I say, confused, as I sit down on Betony's bed with the others.

"It is." Baxter confirms. "But he said we should talk about it amongst ourselves beforehand."

"_I_ think he's just trying to give himself less work." Haymitch grumbles.

"So," I say, ignoring Haymitch. "What've we got so far?"

"We think I should go for 'clever'." Baxter explains. "Apparently, I can pull that one off."

"You can." I agree. "Anything else?"

"I'm trying to persuade Bet to go for 'cute'." Haymitch says. "But she's not buying it."

"I want my angle to be 'ninja'!" Betony insists.

"How about 'cute ninja'?" I ask her.

She gives me a look that would make you think I've just kicked a kitten. "Ninjas aren't cute, Maysilee! Don't be so silly!"

I stare at her for a minute, unsure how to respond to that comment. Eventually, I decide to just ask Haymitch what his chosen angle is and pretend I never heard Betony's response.

"I don't know." He says casually. "I'm good at everything."

I snort back laughter.

"What about me?" I venture, dreading what they might come up with. "You come up with anything for _moi_?"

"I think you should be pretty." Betony pipes up. "And quiet. And shy. Like a princess!"

Baxter laughs. "Maysilee? Quiet? That'd be a first!"

I glare at him. "Okay, well that's out then."

"Cheerful," Baxter says, at the exact same time Haymitch says "Sarcastic."

I raise my eyebrows at the two of them, causing Betony to giggle. "They're polar opposites, boys! Can we please pick _one_?"

"Well, not cheerful," Haymitch reasons. "Because, let's face it, you're a moody old so-and-so who hardly ever smiles."

I glare at him.

"See? You're just proving my point now, sweetheart."

I look at Baxter. "And you?"

"If you're cheerful," Baxter explains. "Haymitch can go for sarcastic. And _he_ can definitely pull _that_ one off."

"Uh, thanks…" Haymitch trails off. "I… Think…"

"Bright and cheerful." I attempt a smile. "I can do that!"

Haymitch face-palms. "You need to ask Wilhelm for smiling lessons." I'd take it as a joke, but he says it with such a serious face…

* * *

We sit talking for hours. Or, I think it's hours. Anyway, we talk for a while. It isn't until Delicia shows up and demands that the boys go back to their room 'for their beauty sleep' that they even think of leaving.

"We'll leave you girls to your beauty sleep." Baxter decides to agree with Delicia, grabbing Haymitch's arm and dragging him out of the room.

"Goodness knows you need it." Haymitch adds cheekily.

"_You_ can hardly talk!" I shout after them. I can hear his laughter even after the door has slid shut.

I get straight into my bed and fall asleep almost straight away. Thank God. I so need this.

* * *

When Delicia wakes me up the next morning, I feel considerably less groggy than I did when I fell asleep. Betony waits for me to climb out of bed before she leaves. I trudge behind her. Less groggy, yes, but I'll _never_ be a morning person.

For once, we've beat the boys. Wilhelm and Delicia are sitting at their usual head ends of the table.

"I trust the boys discussed interview angles with you?" Wilhelm asks. "It's not happening yet, of course, but-"

"They have." I interrupt. "Haymitch says you need to give me smiling lessons."

"And why might that be?" Our mentor asks sweetly, taking a swig of his water.

"Because they think my angle should be 'cheerful'."

Wilhelm spits his water back into the cup, much to Delicia's disdain, and bursts out laughing.

I roll my eyes and grab a slice of bread. I'm midway through spreading strawberry jam on it (jam!) when the boys finally arrive. Baxter ruffles my hair as he walks past, prompting a snarl from me.

"Now, now, Mays," Haymitch scolds as he slips into the place opposite Betony. "_That's_ not very cheerful, is it?"

I smile brightly. "Is this better?"

"Yep."

I go back to scowling. "Good."

Baxter just laughs as he sits in the chair beside Haymitch. He's used to me, after all.

Halfway through breakfast, Delicia claps her hands together to get our attention. We all turn to face her.

"May!" She beams. "I've bought you a present!"

"That's favouritism." Haymitch points out.

"Well," She huffs. "When we find something that looks good on _you_, I'll buy it. Okay?"

"I'll hold you up on that offer." Haymitch assures her.

Delicia ignores him and reaches into her neon pink handbag (which is so bright it actually hurts my eyes), pulling out something long and orange. It's not until she passes it to me over Betony's head that I realise what it is.

Orange eye-liner.

Please, you've got to be kidding me.

"Put it on when you get dressed, dear." Our escort instructs, oblivious to my look of horror and the large amount of laughter coming from the boys (Wilhelm included).

"Alright." I grumble bitterly.

* * *

We ride the lift down with Delicia again once we're all in our training costumes. Forest green t-shirts and black leggings. Yay. And, _lucky me_, orange eye-liner.

When we reach the training level, we find that the other districts are already here, and have already started training.

Betony sees her new best friend and waves cheerfully. He gives her a bashful wave back.

"I'm going to go see Keiran." She informs us, hurrying towards him and the knife station.

"Well, there's Clair," Baxter points a lethal-looking girl from two with dark hair and chocolaty eyes. She's doing archery; I've been half-studying her out the corner of my eye since we arrived just now. She hasn't missed the bulls-eye once.

"Bax," I grab his arm to keep him from walking off. "I don't think you should get involved with the Careers."

He smiles at me. "I'll be fine."

I let his arm go and watch him walk towards Clair and archery. I can't help but wonder if he knows- really knows- who she is and what he's dealing with.

"They've gone off with their new friends," Haymitch says casually from behind me. "Don't even think about running after the merman."

"I wouldn't dream of it." I tell him, looking over my shoulder. "I'm going to go find Jill."

"She still thinks you like the Teletubbies."

"Well, then, I'll just have to fix that, won't I?" I smirk and set off towards camouflage.

* * *

Jill is sitting there, painting butterflies onto her arm. I'm not sure how that counts as camouflage- unless the arena is a field of butterflies, but that hardly seems likely. Still, the instructor at this station seems impressed with her work.

Not even _I'm_ impressed with mine. I'm trying to disguise my arm as a tree, but so far it looks more like… Well, something that certainly _isn't_ a tree.

I pick up the wet cloth and wipe my arm clean for what feels like the umpteenth time.

Hold on... I've just had an idea...

A few minutes later, I'm sitting and proudly adding the finishing touches to my perfectly camouflaged arm. It is brown. Like mud. I dare say that, if I was lying in a pool of mud, I would be invisible. Or thereabouts.

"That looks just like… Mud…" The instructor says, trailing off at the last word. "Was that intentional?"

"Yes it was intentional." I say in a monotone. Jill laughs from beside me.

* * *

Once I've wiped the mud off of my arm (Jill refused to remove her butterflies, insisting that they're staying until her shower this evening), we head for the climbing station. There's hardly anyone there, and we both agree that it's a good skill to learn.

We race each-other up the climbing wall. Jill beats me, much to my annoyance. She holds out a hand and pulls me up to sit beside her at the top.

It's a pretty nifty feeling, being taller than everyone else. This must be how Billy feels, the giant that he is. Jill and I chat about little nothings.

"Do you _really_ like the teletubbies?" She asks suddenly.

"No!" I shoot back, without even thinking. "I was tired and my brain switched off; I would've agreed to anything yesterday."

"Good." Jill says. "I thought you were insane."

We carry on talking, until the instructor for the climbing station shouts up at us:

"You've been up there a while now! Let the other tributes have their turn!"

Jill and I look at each-other and hold back a bout of giggles.

"Race you." I smirk, already starting my descent.

"That's cheating!" She shouts after me, hurrying down.

I have no idea how it happens, but she beats me down anyway.

* * *

At lunch, Jon leaves Veronica and Billy, whom he's spent the morning training with, and sits with me and Jill.

"Look." Jill holds her arm out in front of his nose as he sits in the place beside her.

"That's very pretty." He tells her. She rolls her eyes and pulls her arm back.

"Hey," Haymitch pulls out the seat beside me. "Is this seat taken?"

"It is now." I tell him as he puts his plate on the table and sits in the chair. "I see Mr. Lonely still hasn't made his own friends."

"I see Miss Cheerful still needs some work." I stick my tongue out at him, which prompts him to do the same. We both look across the table when we hear laughing.

"You two," Jon chuckles. "Are adorable."

I scoot my chair a little further away from Haymitch. "We are _not_. _Why_ does everyone think that?"

"Sorry." Jon holds his hands up in defence. "I'm only going with what it looks like."

"I've got a girlfriend back home." Haymitch explains. "And Mays," He looks at me.

"Really doesn't care about that sort of thing." I finish for him, waving a hand dismissively for emphasis.

"I don't know." Jill says, prodding at her carrots with her fork. "Star-crossed lovers could get you a lot of sponsors."

"Is that the angle Billy and Veronica are going for?" I ask, remembering how angry and protective the girl with the sunshine-y hair is over her fellow tribute.

Jill scoffs. "She wishes. No, Billy thinks she's annoying."

"Then why is he hanging around with her so much?" I press, glancing over at their table. They're sitting side by side, across from a boy and a girl from 1.

"Because Vera's scary." Billy tells me, swallowing a mouthful of mashed potato. "He'd rather have her as an ally than an enemy."

"So," I said, pointing my fork at him. "Basically I'm screwed."

"If Vera finds you?" Billy guesses. I nod. "Yep. She doesn't like you very much. Something about 'stealing her publicity'."

"It's not like that was my intention!" I blurt out, adding as an afterthought, "Wait, I'm _what_?"

"That's just what she thinks." Jill says quickly, shooting a quick, and angry, glare at her brother. "I'm sure you aren't really."

I'm not sure whether that's a compliment or an insult. Or neither.

"It's not like she'll beat you in the arena anyway, Mays," Haymitch tries to reassure me.

"She's a killing machine." I point out. "Well, she is compared to me. I can't even beat Jill up the climbing wall."

Haymitch holds up a hand, which Jill happily high-fives.

"And all I can camouflage myself as is mud." I continue.

"Which is more useful than butterflies," Jon assures me, adding hastily, "Beautiful as they are," When he sees his little sister's glare.

Haymitch smirks. "Yes, you're _very_ good at disguising yourself as mud."

I know he's thinking about the 'I was attacked by a plant-pot' thing. I stick my tongue out at him for the second time this lunchtime and take a large bite of my roast potato.

* * *

The ride back up to the twelfth floor is nowhere near as embarrassing as it was yesterday. I credit this to the fact that Haymitch isn't belting out the Teletubbies theme song at the top of his voice.

This time, after we've dropped off 4's tributes at their floor, the friendly-looking girl from 11 with the cork-screw curls sidles up to me.

"Maysilee, isn't it?" She says quietly. I nod. "I'm Thyme." She holds out a hand. I take it and shake. "If you don't mind me asking, what was that thing in the lift about yesterday?"

I smile and explain to her about how I was half asleep, Jill's question and Haymitch's relentless teasing for the rest of the day. By the end of it, she's laughing very hard.

The lift stops again and a girl with skin the same shade as Thyme's, but with hair that's _much_ longer- so much so that it's only wavy as opposed to curly, due to all of its weight- tugs Thyme's arm.

"This is our floor." She tells her.

"Already?" I look around. There's no-one in the lift except for Districts 11 and 12. "That was quick!"

"Tell me about it." The girl agrees. She turns to Thyme. "We'd better go."

"It was nice talking to you, Maysilee." Thyme says, smiling gently.

Betony waits for the doors to slide shut before jumping at me. Literally. I hold her at arms length and look down at her.

"Who gave you caffeine?" I ask. Baxter laughs from across the lift. I'm guessing my expression is betraying the fact that I will find whoever did this and I will _kill_ them.

"No-one!" Betony insists giddily. "I'm just happy!"

I look over at Haymitch; he's known her for longer after all. He just mouths 'good luck' at me. Oh boy.

The doors slide open and the boys rush out onto our floor. I spin Betony around and keep an arm on either of her shoulders, steering her out of the lift and into the living area.

Wilhelm, who is lounging across the whole of the three-seater sofa, waves lazily at us. I push Betony into an armchair and turn to face Wilhelm.

"Delicia's waiting for you in the dining room." He informs me. "She's going to give you smiling lessons."

"_Great_." I grumble, storming toward the dining area. This is going to be so boring.

"That's the spirit, Blondie!" I hear my mentor's voice shout after me. "Ever-cheerful, as always."

* * *

**Yeah, I went with cheerful because she'll have to work at it. And because, let's face it, Haymitch is the king of sarcasm.**


	14. Private Gamemaker Sessions

**Yay, reviews, alerts and favourites- THANK YOU!**

**This chapter we get to see the private sessions with the Gamemakers!**

**Disclaimer- I do not own the Hunger Games, or anything you might recognise from it. Nor do I own Wednesday Addams.**

* * *

"No, no, May," Delicia scolds. "You want the smile to look natural, not forced."

I resist the temptation to stick my tongue out at her and attempt a cheesy grin.

"No, no, no." Delicia trills again. "Like this, see?" She spreads her lips in a smile I have no doubt could win awards. She stops smiling abruptly. "Your turn."

I try to smile, lifting the corners of my mouth ever so slightly. I _can_ smile, I just can't force it and make it look real at the same time.

Delicia sighs.

"This," My stylist says from beside Delicia (they're sitting across from me at the table, so that they can see how I'm 'progressing' easily), "Is like watching Wednesday Addams."

I don't get the joke, but it cracks our escort up. She snickers behind a perfectly manicured hand, before throwing that out the window and just full-out laughing.

"Um…" I look from Delicia to Rosalia. "Can someone please explain?"

Delicia stops laughing and the two Capitol women stare at me like I've just admitted to killing the president.

"You," Rosalia says bluntly, "Haven't lived."

"You're dismissed." Delicia pipes up. "Go and ask Wilhelm for help, you impossible child."

Relieved (It's over! Finally!), I push my chair back and leave the dining room.

* * *

When I reach the living room, I find Betony sitting and watching the TV. She's staring at it with a confused expression. Our mentor is still stretched across the sofa, his eyes flicking from the Small Girl to the TV with amusement.

"What's this?" I ask, sitting in the arm-chair across from Betony.

"I don't know!" Betony insists.

Wilhelm smirks and looks over at me. "How'd your lessons go, Blondie?"

"Terrible." I flop against the back of the armchair. "Apparently, I can't smile to save my life. Which it just might, if it's going to get me sponsors."

"Think of something happy." Betony suggests. "Like Christmas!"

I think of Christmas. I think of the little plastic fir tree that Father said has been in the family for generations. I think of hanging Mother's little chocolate decorations on the branches with Macy. I think of 'testing' one. Or two. Or twenty. I think of the presents, of the wrapping-paper battles with my sister, with my parents. I feel a ghost of a smile sneak across my face.

"By Jove, it's working!" Wilhelm says in disbelief. He looks over at Betony with newfound respect. "How did you do that?"

The little girl snickers at some secret joke of hers. "Smiling is easy."

I feel the smile drop from my face as quickly as it arrived and glance at our mentor. "So, can I pull it off?"

I study him, and it's like I can see him thinking this through carefully. "I think you can." He decides eventually, looking over at Betony. "What do you think?"

"_I_ thought she could anyway." Her grey eyes settle on me with a mischievous twinkle. "Can I have a favour now?"

I feel my heart sink. "And what would that be?"

"I gave you a lesson in your angle." She explains. "Which means it's only fair you give me a lesson on mine."

Well, this should be easy. "Cute, right?"

"_No_!" She shouts. "I'm gonna be a ninja, remember?"

Wilhelm smirks.

Well. This'll be interesting.

* * *

Baxter enters the living room with dripping wet hair (I'm guessing he's just had a shower) to find me holding onto Betony's ankles whilst she attempts a handstand. Wilhelm thinks the whole situation is hilarious.

"Okaaaay…" Baxter draws out, sitting in the chair Betony had been when I escaped from my Smiling Lesson about an hour ago.

"Maysilee's giving me ninja lessons!" Betony beams. Her face is bright red; all of the blood is rushing to her head.

"You know," Wilhelm advises. "I'm pretty sure that ninjas can do handstands _without_ someone holding their ankles."

Betony considers this for a moment before deciding he's probably right. "Maysilee, let go."

"But-"

"Do it!" She hisses. It's a strangely scary noise coming from a seemingly innocent little girl. I let go of her ankles and take a step back.

Apparently, my step wasn't big enough. Betony falls backwards, catching me with her legs and bringing me down with her. My head whacks against the floor.

I try to stop the dizzy feeling in my head as Betony rolls off of me (literally) and stands up.

"Oops." She apologises weakly. "Sorry, Maysilee."

"Yeah, yeah." I mutter as I stand up.

I scowl at Baxter and Wilhelm, who are both clearly holding back laughter.

"Smile, Blondie." Wilhelm scolds. I force a large smile, one that I'm positive makes me look demented, and quickly go back to scowling.

"Dinner!" Screeches a loud, high-pitched noise. It can only be Delicia.

"You heard the creature," Wilhelm said, swinging his legs off the sofa and standing up. "Dinner time."

The four of us head to the dining area and sit down to eat. Our stylists are there again, sitting in a little line. Betony takes the seat across from Faunus, who immediately picks the coke bottle up and moves it out of her reach. Her disappointed look lasts only until she catches sight of the chocolate cake in the centre of the table.

"_That's_ for pudding!" Delicia warns before she has chance to get at it. Betony huffs and settles down in her chair.

I sit beside her, opposite Leo. He seems friendly. Far more friendly than Rosalia, who is currently winding Wilhelm up, at any rate.

Baxter takes the chair beside me and looks at the one last, empty chair.

"Is he _still_ in the shower?" He says, looking at Delicia. When he catches my raised eyebrow he hastily adds "He hopped in once I was finished in the bathroom."

I nod once, but otherwise ignore him for the sake of grabbing a spoon and tucking into a bowl of chicken soup. Yummy!

"I am _not_ fetching him from the _shower_!" Delicia shouts, disgusted. "Wilhelm!"

"I'm on it." Wilhelm grumbles, dropping his entire spoon into his bowl of soup (It'll be funny watching him fish _that_ out!) and stalking off toward the boys' bedroom.

All of us- Delicia included- stare at the steps, waiting to see if Wilhelm can manage to drag Haymitch to dinner.

After about ten minutes, the door opens and Wilhelm strides out with a very smug expression. Haymitch trudges behind him wearing a pair of navy blue pyjamas.

"He let me get dressed." He states as he slips into the seat the other side of Baxter. "Be thankful."

Wilhelm slips back into his seat and stares at his soup for a moment, probably trying to figure out how exactly he's going to get his spoon back.

"So," He says, deciding to just plunge his hand in and slopping soup all over the tablecloth. Rosalia makes a 'tsk' noise and Delicia rolls her eyes dramatically. "What are you doing for the Gamemakers?" His hand emerges from the now half-filled soup bowl with a dripping spoon held tightly in his fingers. He starts licking the food off of his hand.

"Clair taught me some knife-throwing skills." Baxter answers. "I was thinking of doing that."

"Cool." Wilhelm nods. "Small Girl, your go."

"Climbing." She replies matter-of-factly. "I can do it faster than Kieran _and_ Tanya." Her two friends from District 8.

"Awesome." He looks pointedly at Haymitch. "Curly, go."

"I'm alright at camouflage." He says. "And I'm okay at hand-to-hand combat."

"Pick one of those and go with it." Wilhelm instructs. "Blondie?"

I think about it for a moment before answering. "I can disguise myself as mud."

I hear Haymitch choke back a laugh from the other side of Baxter, fail, and start sniggering.

"And are you planning on lying in mud in the Arena?" Wilhelm asks, eyebrow raised.

"That depends on whether or not there _is_ mud, doesn't it?" I shoot back.

"And you aren't worried it will," He puts on a very high-pitched, screaming voice that isn't unlike Delicia's, "Get in your hair and nails!"

"Nope." I assure him. "There are far more important things to worry about. Like staying alive."

"I suppose you could always trip people up if you lay in the mud." Wilhelm says, glancing at Haymitch. He's still laughing.

"She can run too." Baxter cuts in. "Remember?"

"Maybe if I run to the camouflage station," I think out loud. "And _then_ lie on the floor and pretend to be mud?"

"Whatever works, Blondie," Wilhelm says, slurping some soup from his now clean and shiny spoon. "Whatever works."

* * *

I wake up the next morning to the sound of crying.

I sit up groggily and rub my eyes. It takes a moment for 'crying' to register in my brain, but when it does I find I've leapt out of my bed. Because who else would be crying in _this_ room besides sweet little Betony?

I sit down on her bed.

"Hey," I whisper gently. "What's the matter?"

She sniffles and rubs an eye with the palm of her hand. "I can't find my token."

"What does it look like?"

"It's a button- a shiny blue one." She explains, her voice still crackly. "I put it by my pillow, but it's gone!"

"Well, it can't have gone far, can it?" I give her a genuine smile, which she returns.

I jump from her bed and crouch down on the floor, looking underneath it. I think I see it, but I'd better check.

I crawl underneath the bed, until just my feet are poking out, and lunge toward the maybe-button. My fingers clasp round it and I start to back out.

I try getting up too early, which results in a bump to the head. But it makes Betony giggle, so that's alright.

Opening my hand, I hold the shiny blue object I found out to her.

"Is this it?" I ask. She nods. "Maybe we can get Faunus to sew it into a hair-band for you or something. So that you won't lose it again."

* * *

I can't get back to sleep again after that. I decide to have a shower. Casting a glance over at Betony's bed (She's asleep, bless) I stand up and fling the wardrobe open. I pick out the forest green t-shirt and black leggings required for training, promising myself that I'll change straight after our private sessions with the Gamemakers. I am _not_ a leggings person.

As silently as I can, I close the wardrobe's doors and head to the bathroom. Once in there, I make sure to leave my token somewhere I can find it- I don't want to lose it like Betony did hers! I choose to leave it on the edge of the sink, between the taps.

I swear the shower has developed new buttons since yesterday. For example, that one that looks like an apple pie isn't familiar, I swear! I press it, just to see what it does.

Okay, there is a shower setting that makes the water smell like apple pie. This is strange. This is _really_ strange.

Still, apple pie smells nice.

* * *

Washed, dressed, and smelling of fresh apple pie, I decide to go sit in the living room. It'll be far more fun than sitting on my bed. My bed is taunting me, teasing me because I can't sleep no matter how much I toss and I turn.

After what feels like hours of sitting on the sofa, but is, according to the clock, actually only about a minute, I get bored. I jump up and decide to go see if Wilhelm's sleeping under the dining table.

I make my way over to the dining area and lift the corner of the table-cloth up.

Yes, Wilhelm's asleep under the table.

I drop the table-cloth and try to think of something else to do.

* * *

I end up on the rooftop. If I'm going to stand there and do nothing, I might as well do it somewhere pretty.

I would practice being mud, but I've just had a shower and, pleasant as it was, I don't feel like having another one just yet.

Instead, I decide to watch a ladybird I've found crawl across the floor. It's a black one with yellow spots, which reminds me of Macy's Reaping dress. I will not cry, I will not cry.

The bug crawls up my arm and looks up at me before spreading its wings and flying away. I bite my lip. I will not cry. It is _not_ Macy. It is a _ladybird_.

I stand for a moment and consider chasing after it- I have nothing better do to and it can't have flown through the force-field- when I hear the door to the rooftop open.

My mind immediately assumes that this is a ninja coming to assassinate me (That is _so_ the last time I help Betony with her angle training) and kicks into attack mode. I reach out and wrench the bamboo stick, which is being used as something for some sort of ivy to climb up, from a plant pot and turn around.

I hear laughing and tighten my grip on the stick.

"Haymitch," I hiss. "What are _you_ doing up?"

"I could ask _you_ the same thing." He replies.

I glance at the stick in my hand and seriously consider using it to whack him round the head.

"I can't sleep." I tell him.

"Me neither." He walks past me, to the edge of the rooftop, and looks down. "Nice view."

"Yep." I agree, trying to whirl the stick round with one hand and smacking myself on the head with it. I find the plant pot it came from and shove it back into the dirt angrily, grateful that Haymitch wasn't looking. I blow a raspberry at it and fold my arms angrily.

"Did you…" Haymitch turns around. "Just blow a raspberry at a plant-pot?"

"No." I say, and it isn't exactly a lie.

He shakes his head and leans against the wall surrounding the rooftop. "So, how are your smiling lessons going?"

I take Betony's advice and think of Christmas. I think of turkey, of all the candy canes my parents would sell in the shop every December. I smile slightly at the memory of stealing the odd few from the display, of my innocent face when questioned later on.

"Well, I see." Haymitch compliments.

Drat! I'd forgotten he was there! "That was Betony's lessons, not Delicia's. She told me to think of Christmas."

"That sounds like the sort of thing she'd come out with." He agrees.

We chat about nothing in particular, meaning nearly everything- wasps, why the sky is blue, our favourite days of the week. We don't mention the Hunger Games though.

* * *

We go in at what we think is about breakfast time. We reach the bottom of the metal staircase just as Delicia finishes knocking on mine and Betony's bedroom door.

"Oh," She looks over. "May, is Bethany with you?"

"No." I tell her. "She's in our room."

"Oh, okay." Our escort goes back to pounding at the door with a delicate little fist.

"We'll wake Baxter up." I inform her. She gives me a brief nod of acknowledgement before flinging mine and Betony's door open.

I don't bother knocking, I just throw the boys' door open. Baxter's fast asleep, his face buried in the pillow, his hand hugging the duvet close.

I creep up to him and kneel down by his bed, rest my chin on his pillow.

"RAWR!" I shout. He screams and darts upright, throwing his duvet away and moving his hands in an attack stance.

When he catches me laughing, he scowls at me.

"Maysilee, that isn't funny!"

"It was!" I titter, dashing away before he can catch me.

I push past Haymitch, who's standing by the door and pretending he wasn't listening (He was!), sprinting to the dining table before Baxter's even out of bed.

* * *

At ten o'clock, Delicia rides with the four of us down to the training level in the lift once again. When the doors ping open at the bottom, she gives us a bright smile.

"Do well in your personal sessions." She instructs. "I want a district to be proud of this year!"

We hurry to training and split off our separate ways. Betony finds Kieran and Tanya, Baxter heads off with Clair and her little gaggle of friends. I'm jumped on by Jill, who takes my hand and drags me over to the berries section. And Haymitch… God knows where _he's_ got to.

"My mentor said I need to learn about what I can and can't eat while I've got the chance." She explains. "And you might as well come along, right?"

"Right." I agree.

The instructor must be fed up of us by the time we leave. On the one hand, there's a boy from 7 who seems to know everything there is to know about berries. And then there's me and Jill, who can't tell an elderberry from nightlock. I know strawberries, raspberries and cherries from the flavours of the sweets we get back home, but I know the Gamemakers won't be so kind as to include _those_ in the Arena. Probably.

* * *

After lunch, they start to call tributes, district by district, to their private sessions with the Gamemakers, starting with the boys from 1, then the girls, boys from 2- you get the picture.

Because of this, Jill gets called out quite a while before me.

"Good luck!" I call after her.

"You too!" She shouts back.

Betony's hanging around with Kieran and Tanya still, as they have yet to be called. I go and find Haymitch and Baxter- who are together since District 2 has already been called, and therefore Clair- and poke the latter.

"You," He says matter-of-factly. "Are the worst alarm clock I've ever had."

"But I'm damn good at it." I point out.

"She has a point." Haymitch tells Baxter.

"No-one asked you."

As the three of us argue (Though it's nothing serious), I catch Thyme watching us with a small smile.

Once District 8 are called, Betony sidles up to us. The four of us are clearly the most friendly District left with each-other. Thyme seems friendly, and the tall girl from her District seems to get along with her, but the boys blank them completely.

When all of District 11 are gone, Baxter puts his serious face on.

"Listen," He says to the three of us. "Do your absolute best. Haymitch, they're going to call me first because my name's before yours in the alphabet."

"That means I'm last." I realise aloud.

He nods. "Make it count."

"Baxter Barnes," The Gamemaker who comes to collect us calls out. Baxter gives us a reassuring smile and heads off.

The rest of us are silent for a moment.

"I'm frightened." Betony states eventually.

"Hey," Haymitch says gently stooping to her level. "It's gonna be fine, you know that."

She smiles just as the Gamemaker calls for a Mr. 'Haymitch Abernathy. He hurries off.

Betony latches herself onto my arm in his absence, so that when her name is called I have to pry her fingers off of me. The Gamemaker gives her a warm smile, and she scampers off like a little mouse.

I mooch around the lunch hall on my own, feeling very bored and wishing something would just break the silence. Even the avoxes are gone now. It _has_ been at least three hours since lunch, because so many tributes means everything takes a lot longer.

When the Gamemaker lady calls 'Maysilee Donner', I feel so relieved that I want to either breathe a sigh of relief or jump up and down on the spot- I can't quite decide.

* * *

I reach the now-familiar training room and look up at the Gamemaker's balcony. They all look so bored. Well, I'll just have to do something amazing, and exciting.

I run round and round the hall for a bit, just to show them how fast I can do it. They really don't seem to be paying attention.

Hm. Annoying.

I walk up to the camouflage station. Most of the colours have been used already, but the green-brown I need is barely touched. The other tributes have probably been doing art, like Jill's.

I take the bowl and smear the mud-like colour up my arms. A few Gamemakers are watching, but the majority aren't.

Okay, time for drastic action, I decide.

I take a really loud, really shaky breath and stick my entire face into the bowl. I emerge seconds later, gasping for breath, my face dripping with paint.

"Thank you," Says the lady who showed me in hastily. "You may leave."

I would say something like 'bye', but I'm still fighting to get my breath back. That paint was a lot colder than I thought it would be! And thicker.

* * *

When I step off of the lift at the twelfth floor, I head straight for mine and Betony's room. I really need a shower.

Unfortunately, I'm jumped on by Betony before that can happen.

"How did it go?" She asks me.

"Okay," I tell her, which causes paint to creep into my mouth. I push her aside and cough it up into my hand.

Baxter and Haymitch come to greet me then. The latter bursts into peals of laughter, whilst Bax just stares at me like I'm insane.

"Did you _seriously_ take his advice?" He asks, glancing at the boy in hysterics by his side.

"Running didn't get their attention." I cough more paint into my hand before continuing. "Shoving my face in the paint bowl did."

Haymitch laughs harder.

"Now," I say, pushing past them. "I need a shower."

* * *

**This chapter was originally going to be two chapters, but I decided to squish them together. So if that's a lot of information to take in, then that's why.**


	15. Strategy

**IMPORTANT: As of today (30th of August 2012), I've changed and re-uploaded Chapter 1. It shouldn't affect the storyline too drastically, but I felt it was a really bad first chapter. It'd be an okay third chapter, but not as the first thing people read. **

**Anyway, it'd be really cool (if you have a minute) if you could go back and re-read it and let me know if you prefer the new version or the old one. If more people tell me they prefer the old one, I'll put it back up again.**

**Also, just as importantly, I've changed Maysilee's token to the mockingjay pin. The little inaccuracy there was annoying me, so I've fixed it :D**

* * *

Most of my shower is spent rubbing my face repeatedly and gargling oddly-scented water in an attempt to wash the mud away. When I eventually finish, all I can taste is disgusting artificial soap. It's horrible. Utterly horrible.

I pull on a baggy t-shirt and a pair of jeans before making my way to the sitting area. The others have bagged the chairs, except Betony; she's sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the TV. I sit beside her.

"Does anyone have a hair-band?" I say, looking around. Haymitch, Baxter and Wilhelm give me equally confused looks that say loudly 'why would_ I_ have a hair-band?', but Sabina tosses me a scrunchy. She, I notice, keeps a load on her wrist, just in case. I make sure to remember this for future reference.

I tie my dripping hair back in a ponytail, finishing just as the Capitol anthem plays. Claudius Templesmith and Caesar Flickerman are shown sitting side-by-side, ready to present the training scores.

District 1, as predicted, all have high scores. Clair, Baxter's buddy from District 2, lands herself an 8. If he's pleased, he doesn't show it.

I sort of lose track of most of them, as there's so damn many! I pay attention to District 4 though, because I can actually put a personality and a name to their faces.

Veronica landed a 10, which is to be expected; like I said a while ago, she's a killing machine. Billy scored a 9, which is pretty good. Jill's score is 6; she must've painted butterflies up her arm after all. She should've used the knives! Weapons probably get higher scores! Mind you, I can hardly talk. Jon surprises me most though; a 9! What did he _do_? In a fight between him and Billy, I swear Billy would win! I swear it!

As the minutes roll by, the scores get increasingly mediocre. Still, Betony starts bouncing up and down in her place when the title _'District 8' _rolls up. Her friend Kieran earned a 4, whilst Tanya had a 5. Betony seems pleased for them though.

Thyme has a score of 7. I smile; good for her! Her tall district partner, I find out, is called Rosemary. The Capitol stylists and Delicia think this is hilarious, though I'm not sure why.

Then it's District 12, and everyone's subconsciously leaning toward the screen. They come up in alphabetical order. Baxter's picture comes up, an 8 flashes beneath it. We all praise him. He blushes, clearly not a fan of all the attention, and bats us away.

Betony got a 5, which surprises me just a little. She beams and, unlike Baxter, laps up the praise like a kitten might milk.

Haymitch next; a 9. I look over my shoulder at him.

"What did you _do_?" I ask him, shocked. He just smiles smugly.

"I'm supposed to keep that secret." He states. I roll my eyes at him and turn back to the screen.

God, is that my picture? I look like a frightened bunny rabbit. Oh, right, I should concentrate on the more important things, like my _score_.

A number flashes beneath my frightened-bunny picture; 6.

"Well done, Maysilee," Betony congratulates me. She would do; I beat her. But the boys still have serious bragging rights over me. I think my disdain must show, because Wilhelm is quick to say

"A high score means the Careers will make a point of hunting you down. A low score means they'll whittle you off early on; first few days, tops. A 6 is actually in the safe zone."

"Crap." Haymitch mutters. "I'm doomed."

"Not quite, no." Wilhelm assures him. "You must've done something of merit to get a 9." He studies the Seam boy curiously. "What was it, exactly?"

"That," Haymitch insists. "Is a secret."

* * *

At breakfast the next morning, Wilhelm relates the days plan to us:

"I'll have you one at a time. You'll be working on your own private angles and strategies with me. And alone, so that the others won't know. I know you think you're all friends now but, and trust me, that can change in an instant. Delicia will be working on presentation. Girls, that'll mean high heels."

I don't bother hiding my loud groan.

Wilhelm smirks, but otherwise doesn't acknowledge it and carries on. "You can do that in pairs; boys together, girls together. Only because girls will learn completely different skills to boys with her."

Delicia beams proudly from her end of the table.

"What about the person who's not with you or Delicia?" Haymitch asks. "Do they get some free time?"

"One of you will be with your prep team." Wilhelm explains. "Rosalia pointed out last night that they need to find what works on each of you before they prepare you for your interviews tonight."

It's decided, once we've all thrown on some clothes (jogging bottoms and a t-shirt, in my case), that Betony and I will spend the first hour with Delicia. Baxter will be Wilhelm's first vi- I mean, _tutee_, and Haymitch will spend time with Leo and his prep team.

* * *

No matter how much Delicia insists Betony is 'an adorably angelic little doll', the Small Girl insists that her angle is 'ninja'.

Eventually, Delicia just gives up and moves onto smiling lessons. Betony aces it first try; she's unnatural, the lucky devil. I take Delicia's advice ('think of all of the beautiful fans and it'll come naturally to you!' Her advice sucks.) with bad results. She gives me some more useless feedback and tells me to try again. I take Betony's tip and think of Christmas. That works a treat.

"You know, May," Delicia says excitedly. "You might actually be able to pull this off!"

"Thanks." I mutter, feeling a little insulted, but knowing she isn't trying to offend me. At least, I don't _think_ she is.

Our next lesson consists of walking in high heels. Thanks to a series of annoying girly birthday parties, I have a small amount of experience in this area. Not as much as Macy, and _certainly_ not in heels the size of the ones Delicia's holding up, but more than Betony.

I wobble as I walk, and my foot slips, which makes me think of twisted ankles and panic, but, eventually, it passes. I hold Betony's hand as she tries walking in the heels. She keeps falling and I have to keep yanking her up before she hits the ground face-first.

Delicia gives up on her after a while, telling her she's 'hopeless'. I wait before telling her she isn't.

"You just can't walk in heels." I assure her. "Lots of people can't."

She smiles at me brightly.

* * *

After Delicia's session, Betony and I split. She has her session with her prep team and Faunus, whilst I have a lesson with Wilhelm.

I bump into Haymitch on the way past and have to fight to hold in my snicker. It looks like his prep team have been experimenting with the colour green; green eyeliner, green lipstick. He catches my expression and stands for a moment, confused.

"What," He says, exasperated. "Have they done to me?"

"You're looking very green," I tell him. "I'll leave it at that."

He picks up a spoon from the dining table and holds it up, using it as a mirror. His face contorts into one of anger and frustration as her furiously attempts to wipe the make-up away with the sleeve of his jumper.

As a result, I reach Wilhelm with a smile on my face.

"That's good." He tells me. "We can skip Smiling Lessons for the moment."

I relax. If I had to spend another hour being told I can't smile properly, I think I might scream.

"We'll talk strategy instead." Wilhelm continues. "You said you can run pretty fast?"

"Yeah," I confirm.

"Then run." He tells me. "Don't try and hang around in the Cornucopia; run. If there's a bag by your feet, by all means grab it. But you won't survive if you _stay_ there. The blonde District 4 girls has it in for you; I've noticed the glares in elevator."

I nod; me too. I've just been ignoring her.

"So you _run_, you _hide_." He insists. "If you can form an alliance, do it. But make sure it's with people you trust."

"Won't I just have to kill them in the end?" I ask. "Won't that make it harder?"

He winces, and his eyes glaze over. I think he's relieving some sort of memory, but it quickly passes and he looks me dead in the eye. "Cross that bridge when you come to it. First things first, you need someone to watch your back."

"And if I can't find anyone?"

"The four of you this year are close." His voice has taken on a grim tone. "That'll make things harder in the long run, but it means an alliance has already been forged, whether you know it or not. And… There's the other District 4 girl… I'm sure you've mentioned her before."

"Jill?" I ask.

"Yeah, her. She seems to prefer you to her district partner, but I wouldn't bank on her."

"I think I can trust her."

"Whatever." He dismisses. I think he's already convinced I won't make it home, and it angers me.

"Look, buster, I can make it." I almost shout, the only thing keeping me from doing so the fact that the others will be able to hear. "But only if you help me from the outside."

He sighs, and changes the subject to weaponry.

* * *

Now that Delicia's finished her allotted lessons, she's given the task of coaching Betony in strategy; Wilhelm's job. The reason being that he's busy tutoring Haymitch, who is looking considerably less green. Our mentor has given our escort specific notes on what to ask Betony, what to say. It should go well.

I head into mine and Betony's bathroom feeling worried about what they are going to do to me with the colour orange. We already know they're obsessed with how it 'brings out my eyes'.

"It's your signature thing in the town now." Delphina informs me. "Maysilee; orange eyeliner and Alice bands."

That's all they do to me; apply orange eyeliner, brush my hair, and push it back from my face with an orange Alice band with little blue flowers running along its length.

"It matches your eyes perfectly!" Candida beams, and I'm actually worried she might cry; she sounds so emotional. "Orange and blue!"

Justus throws an arm round her shoulders in an attempt to soothe her, but she starts crying because 'it's just so beautiful'. Rosalia huffs and sends me out early.

I kneel on Betony's bed and stare out of the window until I'm called for dinner.

* * *

**This chapter needs an extra disclaimer:**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games, or anyone or anything you might recognise from it. Nor do I own the murder mystery series _Rosemary and Thyme_, which is where the inspiration for the names of the District 11 girls came from.**


	16. Interviews

**Thank you people who reviewed, favourited, alerted- it means a lot :)**

**Here are the interviews!**

* * *

Dinner is more light-hearted than usual. Wilhelm's quips aren't met with angry yells on my part, and Delicia remembers to call Betony by her name, not 'Bethany'. Though I'm still stuck with 'May', but we can't have everything.

"Tomorrow," Faunus tells us. "You'll spend the day with your prep teams."

"They'll _need_ all day." Rosalia adds, looking pointedly at me. "I mean, look at you!"

I stick my tongue out her, which causes the Small Girl to my left to burst into fits of giggles.

Rosalia stands up in her place just as I'm finishing my final mouthful of maybe-turkey.

"We need to get started." She tells me, looking to Delicia for confirmation. Delicia is midway through a mouthful of leathery beef, and she's far too polite to talk with her mouth full, so Wilhelm does it for her.

"Make her pretty." He tells my stylist. "Lots of yellow."

"Why _yellow_, exactly?" She raises an eyebrow at him.

"Yellow's a happy colour." He wipes a bit of gravy from the corner of his mouth using the table cloth. "We need to convince the whole of Panem she's a cheerful person."

"Impossible." Haymitch interjects. I _really_ hope he's being sarcastic.

"We'll see, Curly." Wilhelm tells him flatly. "We'll see."

* * *

As me and Rosalia enter the girls' bathroom, I'm swarmed by my prep team.

"We'll wash your eyeliner off," Delphina gushes. "And re-apply it."

"Okaaay…" I say, figuring it's probably better to let them get on with it.

"And your dress!" Candida squeals. "It's beautiful!"

"Is it yellow?" I ask, remembering Wilhelm's instruction.

"What?" Candida studies me like I'm crazy. "What sort of question is that?"

"Her idiot mentor told her to wear yellow." Rosalia rolls her eyes. "It's just as well I _planned_ on yellow in the first place isn't it? Or, rather, orange-yellow."

"Why?" I ask, shocked she can apparently tell what Wilhelm is going to say days in advance.

"Because it goes with your blonde hair and orange eyeliner, silly." She rolls her eyes again. "Besides, I _do_ talk with Delicia; I knew your angle as soon as she did."

My prep team strip me down to my underwear and study me for a while. Rosalia sits on the edge of the bath, eating a packet of digestive biscuits. A _whole_ packet.

"I'll do her hair!" Candida announces loudly.

"I'll do her make-up!" Delphina decides, just as loudly.

Justus sulks in the corner for a moment before realising that he really has the most important part. "I'll fetch her dress from Rossy's car!"

'Rossy' gives him a death glare from her place across the bathroom; I'm assuming she hates Justus' nickname for her just as much as I hate mine.

Delphina wipes my face with a wet flannel, taking care to pay careful attention to my eyes. As she does this, Candida brushes my long blonde hair until it's tangle-free. Delphina gets to work with my make-up; orange eyeliner, just a little blusher 'to make my cheeks all rosy-posy', and a teeny bit of lip-gloss. Meanwhile, Candida rushes off, presumably to Rosalia's car, and comes back with a box of hair accessories.

"Where's Justus?" Delphina asks her.

"He's trying to sneak the dress in without anyone seeing." Candida shakes her head as she rummages through the aforementioned box. "But people keep walking past."

Delphina makes a similar 'tsk' noise to the one Rosalia often makes and tells me to rub my lips together.

"It tastes like cherries!" I tell her, recognising the flavouring from my parents' sweet shop.

"Silee!" Delphina huffs. "Now I have to reapply it!" As she does so, she continues talking, "You aren't supposed to _eat_ the lip-gloss!"

Candida, meanwhile, has clearly found what she was looking for in the box- a thick golden Alice band.

"Wait for me to finish with her make-up!" Delphina screeches before she has chance to come near me with it.

Candida huffs and goes to sit next to Rosalia. My stylist hands her a digestive biscuit, which she takes happily.

Delphina is just adding what she assures me are 'the finishing touches' when Justus bounds in.

"I got it!" He announces. "I had to stuff it down my top!"

"It better not be creased." Rosalia hisses, thrusting her packet of digestives at Candida and storming across the bathroom to meet Justus. He reaches down his top and pulls out a creased yellow dress. She screams at him and lays it on the floor delicately, like it's a sleeping child she doesn't want to wake.

She then kneels beside it and starts trying to smooth all the wrinkles out with her hands. Candida hurries over to join her. Delphina just rolls her eyes and takes a step back.

"Candy!" She says brightly. "You can do her hair now!"

Candida jumps up and dashes over, throwing the packet of biscuits at Delphina (who just about manages to catch them). She brushes my hair again and slips the chunky golden band onto my head, in a way that means it pushes all the hair behind my ears except for my fringe. My fringe stays at the front, where it's _supposed_ to be.

"She's ready, Rossy." Candida tells my stylist.

Rosalia stands up and lifts the dress by the straps.

"I think it looks pretty." I tell her. "The creases just add to it."

And for once I'm not lying. The top of the dress is a buttery yellow which slowly changes colour until it reaches the bottom of the skirt, which is a meadow green. There is a thin orange ribbon around the waist- the same sort that forms the two straps for my shoulders at the top. The creases make it look a bit more ruffled, more natural, as opposed to a dress made of cardboard.

Rosalia looks at me like I'm crazy; apparently she doesn't agree with me.

"Lift your arms above your head." She instructs.

I reach my hands straight above my head and close my eyes as she drops the dress onto me. My arms find the straps and slip underneath them. Rosalia, I find, has moved round to the front and is tugging at the dress to get it on properly.

"I hate to say it," She tells me, taking a step back. "But you actually look _really_ pretty."

"We'll show Maxina!" Justus says, pounding the air with his fist excitedly.

"I'll be in the front row, with the other stylists," Rosalia tells me firmly. "So if you say a bad word against my designing, I _will_ know about it."

I smirk. "It's beautiful. I mean it."

"Just wait 'til you see your make-up." Delphina says with a blush, standing behind me and taking my shoulders. She guides me across the bathroom to the mirror.

I hardly recognise myself. My freckles have been hidden behind a cloak of make-up so natural-looking I would, were I not me, think I'd never had freckles in the first place. My eyes are framed by orange, as expected, and my lips have a slight glossy sheen to them that isn't natural. My cheeks, like Delphina told me, are slightly 'rosy-posy'. Candida's golden Alice band holds all of my hair (except for my fringe) out of my face, which means it's all visible.

"What do you think?" Delphina asks.

"I hardly recognise myself." I whisper, afraid my voice might've changed to fit with the rest of me.

"Is…" I hear Justus say from behind me. "That good?"

"I think so." I tell him honestly.

* * *

After my prep team have finished telling me how 'beautiful' I look, Rosalia leads me to the lift. Baxter's waiting outside it with Delicia and Sabina. His hair has all been slicked to the right. He's wearing a black suit with a smart navy blue tie. A hold back a snicker, which he clearly notices because he sticks his tongue out at me.

We stand side by side, but don't say anything. Instead, we listen to Sabina and Rosalia complimenting each-other's work whilst Delicia stands on the side and makes unimportant comments.

Betony's the next one finished. She looks adorable, but she's also got her wish of being a ninja; Faunus must have a little girl of his own, I think- that's why he's so good to Betony.

Her long brown hair is back in a high ponytail, tied in a bow with a black ribbon. Her dress is a sweet, dainty little thing in a dark navy blue. It has puffy sleeves that finish just before her elbows and a skirt that flairs out a little, like a fairy's in picture books. There's a thick black ribbon, matching the one in her hair, wrapped round her waist and tied in a bow at the back. Her feet are shoed in a dainty pair of black pumps. But her favourite part is clearly the mask.

She has a black mask, which will just cover the area around her eyes and over the bump of her nose, attached to a wide plastic stick. When she holds it up, she looks very mysterious and ninja-like. When she lowers it, she goes back to being adorable.

Damn, Faunus is good.

"I see you managed to make 'cute ninja' work?" I tell her, glancing at Faunus. He gives me a proud smile and joins the other grown-ups a little way away.

"You look like a princess!" Betony says to me brightly. "You even have a golden crown!"

"It's an _Alice band_." I state flatly.

"Just pretend it's a crown!" She huffs at me.

Baxter quickly changes the subject before I find myself arguing with a little girl. I know neither of us want that; this is our last night before the Games, after all. It's highly likely it'll end up as my last night _ever_.

_No_, happy thoughts. Happy thoughts.

"I wonder what colour Caesar Flickerman will be this year." Baxter thinks aloud. "Last year he was yellow."

"I think he should be purple." Betony decides. "Purple's a pretty colour."

Haymitch is the last of us over. He, like Baxter, is wearing a suit. That's where the similarities end.

Leo always struck me as more laid back than the other stylists, and that shows through. Haymitch's hair looks like it's been messed up on purpose, as opposed to Baxter's smart style. His suit's blazer is blue, his shirt un-tucked. His trousers match the blue of the blazer.

"Aw, no mud?" He says upon seeing me. "I'm disappointed; surely that was your trademark!"

"No," I say, studying my fingernails in a bored manner. "My trademark, apparently, is orange eyeliner and Alice bands; both of which I have."

"I suppose we wouldn't want to muddy up your cheerful act, would we, princess?" He teases.

"I would stick my tongue out at you, but if I mess up my lip-gloss, Rosalia will kill me before I even have chance to enter the Games."

Wilhelm arrives and pushes the button to call the lift up. It opens to reveal the tributes from Districts 1 and 7. Delicia ushers us all in before following.

Wilhelm goes and stands in the corner, and the four of us follow him. I'm not sure why, it just seems the sensible thing to do.

One of the District 1 boys- dressed up in a sparkly golden suit- gives Betony a menacing look. She dashes behind me and peeks out from behind, mask held up over her eyes. He laughs and turns to high-five his male district partner. I feel Betony bury her face in my back.

"It's okay." I tell her. "They can't do anything." _Yet_, I think, but I don't say that.

"Easy kill." A District 1 girl with dirty blonde hair laughs. I think she's referring to the small girl behind me. I glare at her.

"Hey," Haymitch pushes past me and folds his arms. "If you come _anywhere_ near her…"

"Oooooooooh." All four of the D1 tributes taunt.

One of the District 7 guys looks at me and gives me what I think is supposed to be a reassuring smile. I smile back and grab Haymitch's arm before he can stalk across the lift and do something he'll regret later.

The doors ping open again and District 4 shuffle in. Veronica is wearing a short, tight little dress which is very low-cut at the top. She makes a point of flicking her hair in my face as she walks past. Billy gives me a look that says 'sorry!' as he follows behind her.

Jon follows Billy, but Jill takes her place beside me. She's wearing a checked red-and-black dress with her hair in bunches, like an innocent little school-girl. Jon's stylists have gone for an approach similar to Baxter's, it seems; smart and expensive-looking.

"Mags said I can pull off innocent." Jill grumbles. "I'm not happy about it."

"My angle's supposed to be cheerful." I tell her. She snorts.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

* * *

I wait backstage with Betony. We were told by some strange man with orange hair (_definitely_ a wig) that it was easier if we stayed in district order. Haymitch is hovering to my right, acting like I can't see him. Of course, I'm playing along with it.

As the first District 1 tributes start to walk out onto the stage, Betony grips my hand. I give it a reassuring squeeze. Then Wilhelm's appeared behind us, pulled our hands apart from each-other.

"They need to think you're both capable of killing someone." He whispers to us. "Holding hands isn't going to help that."

I feel someone poke my shoulder and look around. Haymitch and Baxter are already starting to follow Rosemary onto the stage, the former has a cheeky smirk on his face. Oh, I am _so_ getting him back for that. I glance at Betony, who scurries after them. Wilhelm gives my shoulder a quick squeeze.

"Off you go, Blondie."

I follow Betony out onto the stage. It's like I can feel everyone's eyes on me. Macy and my parents will all be crowded round the TV at the back of the sweet shop. I wonder how they'll react to my 'cheerful' act.

I have to fight not to turn round and run back to the safety of backstage. When we reach our seats on the other side of the stage, it's such a relief to sit down and close my eyes without having to worry about tripping up. I glance to my right and for some reason I feel gratitude sweep over me when I see little Betony in the chair beside mine. She looks up at me and gives me a grin, holding her mask up to her face and giggling lightly.

Caesar Flickerman takes to the stage, like he's been doing this all his life. He's been doing this since the 33rd Hunger Games, according to Dad. Which is a long time, if you ask me. Every year, he looks the same, safe for the colour of his wig, eyebrows and lips. This year, he's opted for dark green as his colour.

The first person to be interviewed is the girl called from District 1 with the dirty blonde hair. Her name is Pixie. Her stylist, prep team and mentor have all apparently agreed that she's a pretty thing, but not sexy. She's wearing an elegant ball-gown with a train that follows her feet.

She answers every question with a smile and a nod.

As with the Reapings and the training scores, everything seems to meld together after a while; only those you know truly stand out.

Clair, Baxter's D2 friend, has apparently taken the 'deadly' route. She wears a black dress that ends midway down her shins and a necklace of spikes. She looks truly terrifying.

Veronica spends most of her interview giggling. She does manage to throw in a few facts about how she'd 'love to get home to her little sister', which I'm sure is appealing to the sympathetic citizens of the Capitol.

Jill throws the 'innocent' business out of the window half way through her interview, and instead tells Caesar she's in with a chance.

"I can climb, I can camouflage," She reels off. "And I can use a trident pretty well."

Billy is easy to laugh along with; several people do. He has the citizens wrapped round his little finger by the end of his interview.

Jon doesn't hesitate to point out that Jill is his little sister, and that he'll do _anything_ to get her out alive. The cameras swivel round to face her, her face takes up the entire screen. She doesn't look too pleased with his declaration.

5, 6, 7. Kieran from 8 wore a tartan jacket and black trousers. He managed to pull off 'sweet' with ease; you'd have to be heartless not to want to rush over there and give him a cuddle right now, right here.

9, 10, 11. Thyme is wearing a light blue dress with a frilly skirt to it. She looks the perfect picture of a fairytale princess.

"Betony Cliff." Is called. The Small Girl tenses. I reach over and take her hand, give it a quick squeeze.

"It'll be fine." I promise. She nods and slips her hand from mine, dashing up onto the stage.

Caesar is very friendly with her. He compliments her outfit, and the large screens indicate that the cameras have turned to see Faunus' reaction. He's beaming proudly.

"Now, I'm sure I can't be the only one wondering this." Caesar says, leaning in a little nearer to Betony's chair, like he's about to tell her a secret. "You're so small; what's your plan for the arena?"

"I have ninja reflexes, Mr. Flickerman." Betony explains matter-of-factly. "And _no-one_ can defeat a ninja."

She seems confused by the crowd's laughter, but Caesar Flickerman manages to turn it in her favour by assuring her that ninjas will get lots of lovely sponsors.

The timer rings, signalling her time is up, and Betony jumps up from her seat. You can tell she's nervous, wants nothing more than to get off that stage. Caesar makes sure to shout her name very quickly- as opposed to the arm-lifting-up and shouting nicknames- unlike the other tributes and lets her scamper away to her seat.

"Maysilee Donner."

I freeze. It's like hearing my name at the Reaping all over again. I'm half expecting Macy and Anise to grab my arms and refuse to let me stand up. Instead, I feel someone poke my shoulder. I look to my right and find Haymitch, leaning across Betony's lap so he can reach me.

"Up you go." Baxter says over Haymitch's head.

I stand up and shakily walk up onto the stage, taking the seat opposite Caesar's.

"So, Maysilee," Caesar says. "Do you think you have what it takes to win the 50th Hunger Games?"

"I don't know." I skirt. "It depends."

"On what?"

"Whether or not anybody kills me." For some reason, this creates a roar of laughter in the crowd, though I didn't mean it to. It's the truth, isn't it? I must look confused because Caesar hurriedly changes the subject.

"We all saw those two girls holding you back at the Reaping." He says gently. "Can you tell me about them?"

I swallow. I consider staying silent, but I can here Anise's voice in my head, pushing me to speak 'Come on, Mays. You can do it!'

"My best friend," I say, looking at my hands in my lap. "And my sister."

"She looks a lot like you." Caesar reflects.

I cross my legs and look up, remembering to think of Christmas and smile. "We're twins."

The timer rings and we both stand up. Caesar takes my hand, holds my arm straight above my head.

"Let's hear it for May-si-lee!"

Is my name really that hard to say?

Still, I smile as the crowds clap for me. I wonder if Macy's clapping, if Anise's smiling at me through the television screen. I'm sure they are.

Caesar Flickerman lets my arm go and I think I almost run from the stage back to my seat. Baxter's name is called before I have chance to sit down. He gives my shoulder a friendly pat as he walks past, just as Haymitch gives me a small thumbs up and Betony smiles brightly.

Caesar asks Baxter about angles, his parents, his favourite thing in the Capitol. Baxter makes it look easy, but I've known him long enough to recognise the signs of nervousness; he keeps rubbing his palms on the legs of his trousers, fiddling with his fingers.

He looks all too relieved when his interview's over and Caesar's holding his hand in the air, telling the Capitol to clap for him too.

"Haymitch Abernathy," Is, of course, the last name of the night. He takes to the stage like a duck to water, though I'm positive he's just better at hiding his nerves than the rest of us.

"So, Haymitch," Caesar grins, "The last tribute of the night."

"That's me!" Haymitch agrees.

"And don't we all know it!" Caesar laughs, drawing the crowd in to laugh with him. "Do you have any siblings, Haymitch? Any brothers or sisters watching you right now?"

He smirks, though I'm sure he thinks this question is a huge invasion of his privacy. "I have a brother."

"And what is he like?"

"He's small and annoying." Despite the harsh words, there's no disguising the pride in his voice. "But he's my brother; I think it's part of the job description."

More laughs.

"So, Haymitch," Caesar puts his hands on his knees. "What do you think of the Games having one hundred per cent more competitors than usual?"

Haymitch shrugs, almost like he's bored. "I don't see that it makes much difference. They'll still be one hundred per cent as _stupid_ as usual, so I figure my odds will be roughly the same."

The crowd is still laughing as the buzzer rings and the two boys stand up. His applause is almost deafening as he takes his seat again.

It isn't until we reach our floor that Wilhelm talks to us.

"Tomorrow you have the Games." He says hurriedly. "You are to avoid the Bloodbath at all costs. If you get into a fight, I'm not sure how much of a chance you'll stand. Your best bet is to hide. If you find a weapon that works for you then great, but _don't go looking for trouble_." He looks at Haymitch. "After _that_ comment, I wouldn't be surprised if trouble goes looking for you though."

"What do you mean?" Haymitch asks suspiciously.

"Let's just say I hope you were talking about the tributes when you said this year's 'one hundred per cent as stupid as usual'." Wilhelm decides. "Because if you meant the Games, you'll be hunted down like a wild deer."

We're silent, taking this in.

"Right!" Wilhelm claps his hands. "To bed with you all!"

* * *

**Okay, I'm going back to school tomorrow, so updates are likely to be less frequent. I'll update when I can though; I have the next few chapters typed already as back-up in case I can't write for a while.**


	17. Lady Luck Is On My Side

**Nearly 20 people read last chapter and no-one reviewed? Honestly, if it's _that_ bad, I'd rather someone told me! It's not going to get better if I don't know what I need to fix, is it?**

* * *

"_Go to bed."_ He said. _"Get some sleep."_ He said. Was he mad?!

Actually, thinking about it, he probably is. He zones out halfway through conversations, he sleeps under the table, he stares at the wall for no apparent reason, and he blanked out long enough for Haymitch to drive me to the Opening Parade (I still feel sick just thinking about _that_.).

Right, back on subject; ha! _Sleep_!

For starters, I've been lying in this bed for _hours_ now, I swear, and I haven't got the slightest wink of sleep. It's not as if I'm not sleepy; trust me, I am! It's just that every time I close my eyes, I see someone dying. It might be me, though how I'm watching myself die I'm not quite sure. It's been Baxter a few times, Haymitch too. And Betony. Who on Earth has the heart to kill Betony? I've seen Thyme explode to pieces, Veronica stabbing Jill repeatedly in the stomach; I opened my eyes before her intestines could spill out. I'm really not one for gore.

This is looking promising, isn't it? I am _so_ doomed.

I'm staring at the ceiling, trying my best not even to blink for fear of the images that have ingrained themselves on my eyelids, when I hear a sob. Of course, the only other person in this room is Betony.

"Are you alright?" I whisper, not wanting to wake her if I just imagined it.

"I'm scared." She whispers back.

"It'll be alright." I tell her. I push my cover off and sit up, eyes scanning the darkness. They eventually lock on hers, wide and afraid. "Tell you what; at the start of the Games, just run. Run for cover. If there's a forest, head for that. You're small; you can hide."

"Should I find Kieran?" Betony asks. "Should I help him and Tanya?"

I think for a minute. "If you see them, take them with you. But don't run towards them at the Bloodbath. Your first priority is you, okay?"

"Okay." She sniffles. "Will you find me?"

"Hm?"

"I don't want to be in the woods on my own." She clarifies. "Especially at night-time."

"I'm not going to promise anything," I immediately feel bad. "But if I find you, we'll form an alliance. Deal?"

"Alright." I catch her nod her head and nestle a little into her pillow. "I can't sleep."

"Neither can I." I admit.

"Maybe if we think of something happy…" Betony suggests. "That's what Mummy always used to say when I couldn't sleep; if you think of something happy, you can pretend it's all true."

I smile a little. "Think of Christmas."

I hear her giggle and I know she's smiling too. "Okay."

* * *

I'm awoken before the sun's even up by my stupid stylist! I glare at her, but she points at a still-sleeping Betony before I have chance to say anything. I stick my tongue out at Rosalia and slip out of bed.

She hands me a dressing gown she was holding behind her back.

"Put this on." She whispers. "Meet me on the rooftop."

She turns and walks out before I have chance to question the order.

I hold the dressing gown between my finger and thumb, staring at it with mild disgust.

Well, there is literally _no_ way I'm wearing this without my pyjamas on underneath.

I throw the dressing gown on over the top, wrapping the 'belt' round my waist and pulling it tight. Making sure to grab my mockingjay pin from my bedside, I cast one last glance at Betony before heading to the roof.

Rosalia rolls her eyes at me; my pyjama bottoms are peeking out from underneath it, I'm guessing.

"You were supposed to take your pyjamas off, Donner." She scolds.

"The sun isn't even up yet." I change the subject.

"The arena's clearly far away this year then." She decides firmly.

Before I can think of a suitable retort, the sky is blocked by an enormous something. Which is, might I add, making a hell of a racket!

A ladder falls down a little way away from me and I realise that this is, in fact, the hovercraft.

"Well, get in then!" Rosalia shouts over the noise of the transport. I reach out and grab one of the rungs, put my feet on the bottom one.

Immediately, I freeze; some sort of electrical current jolts through me, to make sure I don't fall. Or jump.

I'm hoping that the electrical current will release me from it's grip when I get inside, only it doesn't.

A man in a white lab coat comes up to me holding a syringe.

"This is your tracker, Maysilee." He says. "Stay still; it makes it easier for me to place it."

Of course, I have no choice _but_ to stay still. I would probably point this out, but my mouth is frozen shut.

I feel a sharp stab of pain as he jabs the needle into the inner part of my right forearm. The tracker blinks under my skin for a moment, and I stare at it out of the corner of my eye in horror. Then it stops, and it's completely invisible. Only my arm still hurts.

The electrical current releases me and I jump back from the ladder, rubbing my poor right arm. The ladder falls back down and comes back up with my stylist. She steps off of it casually, like this is an everyday occurrence.

An avox leads us into a room containing a table and two chairs. On the table is breakfast.

I don't need anyone to explain the concept to me. I pull out a chair and start eating. This has got to called the Hunger Games for a reason, right? I might as well eat while I still have the chance!

Rosalia takes the chair opposite me. She doesn't touch breakfast. I think this is the closest to 'kindness' we're ever going to get; she let's me eat breakfast, I don't tell her off for being annoying.

When I've eaten so much I think I will physically throw up if I eat any more, I stand up and walk over to the window. The chances of me ever flying again are slim because, let's face it, I'll be dead by sundown. Probably.

But I'm not going to dwell on that.

After maybe an hour, the windows black out. I turn around and take my seat again, look at Rosalia. Then I look at the plate of ham sandwiches on the table. They're cut into little triangles. I pick one up and eat it; can't let them go to waste, can we?

When we climb down that evil electric ladder again, it's down a tube and into the catacombs underneath the arena. I follow Rosalia to what she calls my 'Launch Room', but what I know for a fact we refer to as the 'Stockyard' back home in D12.

My 'Launch Room' is new, and everything in it is so _shiny_. Arenas are only used once, turned into historical landmarks afterwards. This room is mine, only mine. Considering this is a Quarter Quell, I'm thinking it might be a popular holiday destination. Maybe Veronica or Clair or whoever wins will have to sit in the arena up top and sign autographs. It's a funny picture; Veronica, with her beautifully golden hair, sitting at a little wooden table signing scraps of paper and over-sized t-shirts.

I hold back a snicker, though Rosalia still notices and gives me a strange look. She probably thinks I'm insane. I really don't blame her right now.

Rosalia is very decent and faces the wall while I use the shower in the corner. I am, for some reason, rather disappointed at the fact that it doesn't have an apple pie setting. It does, however, have a strawberries one.

* * *

I stand in the centre of the room, dressed in nothing but that dressing gown, whilst Rosalia brushes my hair.

"You aren't allowed an Alice band in the arena." She tells me. "The Gamemakers insist it can be snapped and used as a weapon."

I snigger. "Really?"

"Really." I hear her settle the brush down on the little coffee table. "I'm going to plait across the top-front part of your head, so that it _looks_ a little like an Alice band."

"Won't that leave all of my hair to swish about in my way?" I ask.

She sighs. "I'll tie the rest of it up in a ponytail, alright?"

"Okay."

* * *

I'm studying my arena hairstyle in the mirror on the wall when an Avox arrives with my clothes. Rosalia has done a damn good job, I can tell you.

She's taken a section of hair by my right ear, and braided it over to my left, taking little bits of hair as she goes. So that it does, like she said, look like a plaited Alice band. The rest of my hair behind that point has been tied back in a high ponytail. It would, after all, be pretty stupid to leave it down. Hoping I survive the bloodbath, it would get in my way a lot. It would get in my eyes when I'm running, swing round to cover my face when perhaps dodging a blow. No, I'm _glad_ it's all tied back.

I undo my pin from my dressing gown before I take the garment off, and hold it in my fist tightly. If I lost this, I don't know what I'll do with myself.

The clothes Rosalia hands me (After my underwear, of course. I am not going on live TV without underwear!), are rather peculiar. The trousers are very green. Not neon green, but not exactly camouflage either. The baggy shirt, in comparison, is a sort of rich brown-red colour. Then there's a belt, which Rosalia puts on me over the top of the t-shirt (don't ask) so that it rests on my hips.

"It'll keep your shirt from flapping too much when you run." She explains. "Make you more stream-lined."

"Oh." I say weakly.

There she is, being nice to me again, and all I have to say is 'oh'. Way to go, Maysilee.

Then there's a long jacket that reaches my knees, though the sleeves end just above my elbows. This jacket is a dark brown-green colour; like mud! Out of the set of clothes, it's the only thing that looks like good camouflage. I decide it is probably a good plan to wear this. Always.

I take my mockingjay and pin it to my brown-red t-shirt before pulling the zip of my jacket up to my chin.

"Can you move about okay?" Rosalia asks.

I lift my arms above my head swing my leg up as high I can, knee myself in the nose and curse loudly, my hand quickly going to 'rub it better'. I swear my stylist is smiling.

There, now _that's_ the Rosalia I know; not this strange happy nice lady.

Another avox comes in with a plate of food. Both he and Rosalia look at me expectantly.

"Nuh uh." I say, one hand still over my poor little nose. "If I eat any more I'm going to puke."

The avox turns to go.

"But I glass of water would be nice though." I shout after him.

Luckily, he heard. He comes back with my drink a few minutes later. Rosalia dismisses him as I sit on top of the coffee table (no chairs! Why are there no chairs?!) and sip at it. It's very cold. Maybe I'm just very warm. I _am_ wearing a jacket indoors, after all.

Rosalia paces up and down in front of me. I think she's bored. Or tired. I can't blame her, really.

I'm pretty surprised when she turns around a grips my shoulders. Thank God I finished my glass of water, otherwise I'm positive I would've thrown it over myself.

"Good luck."

"What?" Lame, I know, but it's quite a shock. She's wishing me luck now? What is the world coming to?

"Aw, forget it." She releases my shoulders and turns away from me.

I stare at her back for a moment. "Thank you."

She doesn't answer, but I like to think she's smiling, even if only a little.

An annoying female voice decides to announce 'It's launch time!' loudly at this point from a hidden speaker. I feel my breath hitch and stay rooted to the table.

"Come on, Donner," Rosalia groans. "You can't stay down here forever."

"Watch me." I dare.

She rolls her eyes. "Fine. But I'm sure there will be a lot of disappointed people if you don't get on that disk." She points at the round platform across the room that will carry me up to the arena.

As much as I hate to admit it, she has a point. Macy, Anise, Mum, Dad; they're all sitting, watching for me, I know it. Jill and Jon, if they've managed to get out of the Career pack, might be waiting for me. Then there's Baxter- in many ways my big brother- and Haymitch who, as annoying as he may be, would probably panic if he can't see me.

And, of course, there's Betony. I told her I'd try to find her. I have to attempt it, even if it kills me. Which it just might do.

I slide off of the table and slowly walk toward the metal plate. Standing on it, I look at Rosalia. She's watching me, arms folded.

"You can do this." She says suddenly, and quite unexpectedly. "What was it you said; you can run really fast?"

"Relatively." I confirm. "Faster than you might think, apparently."

"Then you run the hell out of there, Donner."

A glass cylinder starts to rise up around me. I begin to panic, looking around frantically. Oh God, what if I suffocate? I lock eyes with Rosalia, who just gives me a slight, calm smile.

And then the platform starts to rise.

Oh God, oh God, oh God.

I have my index and middle finger crossed on both hands, for luck. It was something Macy always does. Cross her fingers, hold them up so all could see, and say in her clear voice 'Lady Luck is on my side!'

When the platform stops moving, my eyes are still squeezed shut, my lips still whispering the words 'Lady Luck is on my side, Lady Luck is on my side'.

The first beat of the minute-long countdown starts and I leap out of my skin.


	18. Sick

**I think update-day is going to be Saturday from now on, okay? Okay.**

**And, just as a warning, there's a tiny amount of swearing in this chapter. I don't usually swear, but the situation seemed like the sort of one where Mays might do. So, just saying.**

* * *

Looking round, the green trousers immediately make sense.

They are such a vibrant green because of the colour of the grass in the meadow in which the Cornucopia is situated. It's such a shade it looks unnatural. Knowing the Capitol, it probably is. The meadow is dotted with bright flowers- yellow, blue, red, pink- every colour, I think. Except green, because the grass is green. And brown, because that's not exactly going to attract butterflies, is it?

I look up. The sky is a shade of deep azure, again, _completely_ unnaturally so.

I stand on tiptoe and look around. God, this meadow must stretch for miles. Thank goodness the grass is so long or else I'd be doomed.

The countdown is at 46 seconds. I sneak a glance to my right; Rosemary is on the platform next to me. I can tell from the conflicted expression on her face that she's not sure whether to run or dive for a few of the spoils around us.

To my left is Veroni- _shit_! Veronica! She locks eyes with me and gives me a look that clearly says 'you'd best hope you can run really fast'. I quickly turn my attention back to the items scattered around the Cornucopia.

Well, there's piece of string a few feet away from me. It seems pretty silly; why would I want _that_? Still, it might be useful for tying… Things to other… Things. I don't know, but it would probably-

"Happy 50th Hunger Games." A voice announces; Claudius Templesmith.

No-one moves. Several people are still staring in awe at the beauty of this unnatural meadow. Several more, like me, are planning what to do.

Haymitch isn't one of these people. He jumps off his platform, grabs a knife that's sticking up out of the ground and a bright orange backpack, disappearing into the long grass so quickly it's like he was never there.

I might try it, but the other tributes are coming to their senses now. Veronica gives me an eerie look, eyes flitting from mine to the array of weapons at the mouth of the Cornucopia. I involuntarily shudder.

I run for the grass at the same time she jumps from her platform and sprints toward the aforementioned weapons. As I pass by, I manage to grab the handle of another orange backpack. This one is stupidly smaller than Haymitch's, as well as stupidly light; can't have anything useful in it.

Still, it's better than that piece of string over there.

It's difficult to run through the grass of the meadow. Once you're out of the area around the Cornucopia, where it's quite short and easy to see people, it shoots up quickly. I've not been running for a minute and already the stuff is up to my chin.

I keep on running and running; I think my mind has subconsciously convinced itself that Veronica is chasing me, though the sensible part of my brain is positive that she wouldn't; she's a Career, through and through. Careers stay at the Bloodbath and kill people.

I sure hope Betony got out of there.

I stop running, debate going back. No, that won't help. If she's dead, I can't bring her back. If she got away and she's alive, it'd look pretty stupid if I went back to fetch her.

I keep going in the direction I was heading to begin with.

After running until I'm tired and breathing so heavily it hurts, I start walking. I have to find shelter. I'm pretty sure that's what Herbert Everdeen always said, and he's our year's survival _expert_.

"First, make sure you can breathe." I heard him telling Anise once (that girl has a crush on him so big it's funny). I take a deep breath. Yes, that one's sorted. "Then, you find a suitable shelter. Water is pushed down to your third priority; you can survive longer without water than you can without shelter in the worst conditions. Food is of the least concern until those three are sorted."

"Shelter." I whisper to myself. I'm still holding the strap of my backpack like it's a handbag; the straps are too small to fit on my back.

I keep walking.

When I reach a forest, it feels like a miracle. It takes literally all of my self control not to fall over onto the twiggy soil and hug the forest floor as best I can. It's _not grass_!

I stare at the trees, feel myself start to grin. And then I'm trying not to laugh I'm so relieved. Smile still plastered across my face, I enter the woods.

* * *

I find a fallen log. Part of it is covered in some sort of glowing purple fungi, though there's a clear area at one end big enough for me to sit on. I settle my new- tiny- backpack down on my lap and pull the zip across. Let's see what we've got in here:

A little plastic bowl. Okay, that could be useful for holding… Things… I could catch rainwater in it. Or, if I find a river, I could scoop water out of it. And if it gets too hot, I could use it as a sunhat!

A plastic packet with the words 'Beef Jerky' written across it in Wild West-style writing. Seriously? Couldn't they give me some sweets or something? Still, I shouldn't complain; at least it's _some_ food, right?

And, last but not least, a blowgun with a little box containing twenty-four darts. _Really_? A _blowgun_?

I flip the lid of the metal case up and take out one of the darts, examine it. It doesn't look like it can do much more damage than a sewing needle.

This is so stupid.

I put the dart-needle back in it's slot in the case, flip the lid shut, and pack it back into my backpack along with the blowgun, beef jerky and the bowl. Zip pulled across, I hold the straps like a handbag and slide off the log.

Shelter. Shelter is a good plan.

I walk through the woods, eyes peeled for a strategically placed cave or something. There, apparently, isn't one. Well, this sucks.

BANG!

I leap out of my skin and look around. It takes a moment (and three more BANGS!) for me to realise that it was a cannon; the Bloodbath has officially ended. That's four blasts. Five, six, seven. I count in my head until the cannon's eventually stop blasting. Eighteen.

_Please don't let it be Betony._ I think. _Or Baxter, or Haymitch, or Jill or Thyme or… Gosh._

I need to man up. Really I do. I won't survive long if I'm _this_ afraid of dead people.

Pushing away images of friends and acquaintances lying face-down at the Cornucopia in a pool of their own blood, I keep walking on.

* * *

Stupid liar! I sure feel like I need water more than shelter right now! In the unlikely event that I make it home from this alive, I will _find_ Herbert Everdeen and make him _pay_.

_Snap_.

Okay, that wasn't me. That was somebody else snapping a twig beneath their feet. I freeze.

Damn, that was a stupid idea. Run already!

Despite my legs' protesting, I run as fast as they'll let me.

I skid to a halt when I reach a river. It looks so inviting. Screw what Herbert said; I'm thirsty!

Yet I can't help but notice warning bells going off in the back of my mind. It looks almost _too _perfect. It's beautifully clear. In fact, it almost seems to shimmer in the dappled light coming through the trees.

I hear footsteps behind me and look around, desperately seeking somewhere to hide. Realising my only chance is to climb a tree (_joy_.) I sling on the straps of my backpack over one shoulder and use both hands to grip one of the lower branches of a sturdy-looking tree. I have to jump my highest to reach it, swinging precariously, held up only by my own grip.

It takes a lot of strength to pull myself up to that first branch, but I manage. I find myself another, slightly further up, and make my way onto that one. By the time my follower(s) reach me, I'm high up enough not to be seen. I hope. I pull my jacket over my bright trousers, hoping it will help me blend in to the surroundings.

"Are you sure you weren't imagining it, Vera?" Billy says, stopping a little way away from the river.

"Yes, I'm sure." A voice that's unmistakably Veronica's snaps, "Where _is_ she?" She looks around.

A tall, fair-haired boy I recognise as one of the D1 males makes toward Veronica. "We could be hunting down someone else right now, Veronica. What about the little girl who deserted us, huh? We could be taking her out as we speak. But _no_, you _had_ to run off after District 12, didn't you?"

"You didn't need to follow." Veronica snaps back.

"We don't break the alliance until we have to." The D1 boy says coolly. "You know that. Where one of us goes, the rest of us go."

"This is ridiculous." I feel my blood run cold and my shoulders involuntarily do a little shiver. "Maysilee isn't a threat." Oh, _thank you_, Baxter. _Such_ faith in me.

"What about the little Traitor-girl, anyway?" Says a dark-haired girl, stepping to Baxter's side with a scary smile on her face. Clair.

Wait a minute; Traitor-girl? Who the hell? _That's_ not me! I'm pretty sure I've yet to betray anyone, _especially_ the Careers.

"She has a point, Vera." Billy tells her. "We could be going after J- The traitor." He casts glance in D1 boy's direction as he hastily corrects himself, but the tall blonde isn't paying attention to him.

"Leave her alone." Another voice cuts in defensively. Jon. "She isn't a thre-"

I never hear him finish. Instead, he releases a choked gurgle and falls to the floor. A short girl with dirty blonde hair tied in a side braid wipes the blood from her axe on her trouser leg.

Jon lies on the forest floor, a large slit right across the right side of his stomach, from front of back. What I think are his intestines are crawling out of the hole slowly. It makes me feel sick. I hastily look away from him, at the others.

The rest of his group just carry on, like he isn't there.

"_I_ say we go after the traitor." A large, muscular boy from D2 announces.

"Agreed." Says that boy from 1. "District 4, I'm afraid you're outvoted."

"There's always later, Ore." Veronica tells the boy. "There's always later."

* * *

Even after they've gone, I'm convinced that I can't go down for fear of being sliced up. The hovercraft to collect Jon's body comes and goes. I wait a while, wondering whether or not to go try out that oh-so-inviting water.

I'm about to climb down, really I am, when I hear footsteps. Fearing the worst (Veronica's back to _get_ me!), I freeze again in my place up the tree and watch.

It's not the Careers, but it looks like another alliance.

Is _everyone_ in an alliance except me? Damn it, I'm _really_ screwed.

This alliance is made up of a girl from 6, a boy from 6 and a girl from 5. It's the latter who runs up to the crystalline river the moment she sets eyes on it.

"Careful, Laura," The D6 girl warns. "You don't know what's in that."

"I need a drink!" D5, Laura, insists.

"We should boil it first." D6 boy tells the girls. "To kill off bacteria."

"It's clean." Laura states.

"Laura…" D6 girl doesn't manage to stop her as she cups her hands beneath the water's surface and brings the cool liquid up to her lips.

The boy runs a hand through his chestnut brown hair and looks at his fellow 6 girl. She just shakes her head.

Laura turns round to face them. "See, it's perfectly fine."

"Disease doesn't kick in immediately." The boy points out.

Laura pales.

The other girl opens her mouth to say something, but instead her mouth contorts to let out a loud scream.

"_What_?" Laura panics. "What is it?" Her back's to me, and I'm curious too.

"Your- your-" The D6 girl struggles to get out.

"Your lips are _purple_, Laura!" The boy says for her. "They're bright _purple_!"

I see Laura raise a hand, presumably to touch them. She pulls it away again immediately, like it's burning. I hear her scream too as she holds her hand in front of her face, her fingers a bruised, yet vibrant, purple.

The purple creeps through her hand, down her arm.

"I can't feel my fingers!" She shouts. "Caroline, help!"

The District 6 girl, who I assume is Caroline, steps away from her. "I don't know what to do, Laura." She says shakily. "I'm sorry, but I don't."

The purple spreads until it's beneath her shirt. Laura screams again, topples to the floor. She's not even reached it when her cannon goes off.

"Stopped her heart." The boy from 6 tells Caroline. "It shut off parts of the body, stopped them from functioning."

"Axel," Caroline draws in a shaky breath. "What do we do?"

"What do you mean?" He asks her.

"I mean, what do we _do_?" She repeats, still sounding just as terrified. I don't blame her. I feel so sick, having witnessed that, that I'm amazed I haven't thrown up yet. "We've got no water, no food. _Axel_…"

"We'll figure something out, Carrie," He assures her softly. "You'll see." He looks at Laura's body. "Don't touch it; I'm sure the poison will just spread."

"What do we do with her?"

"Leave her for the hovercraft. They'll cleanse her body and take her home for a funeral after all this is over."

Caroline bites her lip. I think she's fighting back tears, trying to come across as strong despite all this.

"Come on, Carrie," Axel puts his arm round her shoulders. "Let's go."

"Goodbye, Laura, you silly girl," She whispers fondly before allowing Axel to take her away.

I stare at my knees until the hovercraft has been and gone, unable to look at Laura's purple corpse. _That could so easily have been me._

* * *

**Thank you to the alerters, favouriters and reviewers of this story! As reviewers of last chapter will have no doubt noticed, I'm replying to reviews now. So any questions, ideas, theories will all be answered/acknowledged/replied to.**

**Herbert Everdeen is Mr. Everdeen, if you didn't get that. The survival skills he told Anise, and that Maysilee is therefore using, come from a survival skills thing me and some friends did with a club we do at school. We went into the forest with a guide, and he taught us a load of skills for if you're lost in 'a survival situation'. **


	19. Squeaking Squirrels

**Sorry if it seems like not a lot happens in this chapter. It's quite important in the long run, even if it doesn't seem it right now.**

* * *

It takes a while for me to pluck up the courage to climb out of the tree, and, once my feet hit the ground, I make sure to stay away from the river. Is _all_ the water here like that? I hope not. We'd all die of thirst or purple-poisoning sooner or later. And _that_ wouldn't be exciting for the rest of Panem to watch, would it?

I sit with my back against my tree and set my backpack down beside me, undoing the zip. I take out my blowgun and the shiny metal box of measly darts. And have a very devious idea.

I slide my fingernail beneath the rim of the lid and the box, flipping it open. Gently, I take one of the darts. I set the box by my side, the blowgun beside it, and crawl up to the river. Carefully, so I don't get any water on my hands, I dip the tip of the dart in the water. Turning round, I look for something to test my devious idea on.

Look, a squirrel!

I grab my blowgun and slot my dart into it, making sure to keep the shining pipe horizontal so there's no chance of my ammo falling out. Putting the end to my lips, I aim it as best I can at the squirrel and blow as hard as I can.

The dart whooshes out, landing a few feet to the squirrel's left. It looks at the dart, looks at me, and squeaks. I stare at in; squirrels do _not _make that noise. It tilts its head to one side and scampers up the tree nearest to it.

I walk over to my dart and pick it up by the fluffy end (I think it's there so it keeps its balance in the air, but I'm no specialist when it comes to darts) between thumb and forefinger. I take care not to touch the tip; I don't fancy going down the way Laura did.

Looking around, I see a large green beetle crawling across a leaf a little way away. It doesn't look natural; its hue is far too vibrant. Capitol muttation, I'm guessing.

Best test this dart on it, eh?

I pinch the end of the dart as tightly as I can, so that I have maximum control over it, and stab the little beetle in the back.

It falls from the tree and lies twitching on the floor, falling still after a few convulsions. Its hard exoskeleton hasn't changed colour, but I'll bet its inside are purple. Using the poisoned end of my dart, I pierce its exposed stomach and drag across. Yep, it's definitely purple in there.

I actually have a decent weapon, in that case! Point one for Maysilee!

I take my poisoned dart back over to my backpack, which sits on the ground by my tree, and lift up my case. Flipping it open, I place the dart back in it's place and pack everything back into the backpack.

Then I think about what to do.

I need water, that much I know. The river isn't to be trusted. Its waters may look cool, clear and undeniable, but I must resist; it is evil! I'm going to assume water from all rivers is untouchable.

Unless…

One year, all of the water was poisoned except for that which was in a tiny lake on the other side of the arena to the Cornucopia. I _really_ hope they haven't done that this year. It's too late in the day to go water-hunting, and I'm far too thirsty.

Seriously, I don't think I've ever been _this_ thirsty.

I'd sleep in my tree, but I know for a fact that I'll fall out of it in my slumber. Splat! Bye bye, Maysilee. That would be such a humiliating way to die; and on live TV, no less! Urgh, I'll pass up on that.

Which means sleeping on the floor. Stupid Herbert Everdeen and his stupid 'survival skills'. If I'd gone searching for clear water earlier on, rather than shelter, maybe I'd have both. Time management! Urgh!

I use my bag as a pillow and cuddle up beneath my tree, snuggled in my jacket. If anybody comes for me, I promise myself I'll wake up. I have to.

* * *

As the sun dips over the horizon, the Capitol anthem plays. Really loudly. Cursing (stupid anthem waking me up) under my breath, I sit up and look at the sky. Pictures of the dead tributes flash up, to let us know they won't be coming for us tonight.

The first one is a boy from District 1, which surprises me; it's rarely a Career, especially on day one.

Everyone from District 2 lives to fight another day.

That's not the case for District 3. Four deaths, all on the first day. It's really shocking; even if they aren't a Career district, 3 are usually better off than the outlying districts. Surely they'd know some little things about weapons. Although not enough for the might of this year's Hunger Games, it would seem.

Jon who, of course, I knew about. I'm sure Jill is watching the sky right now and holding back tears. Maybe they're escaping. If somebody killed Macy, I know I'd cry.

And hunt. Them. Down. _No_-_one_ hurts my sister, let alone kills her.

District 5 has a similarly sad story to 3; no-one lives, this day.

A girl with red plaits and a boy with neat black hair from 6.

All four poor tributes from 7.

I'm starting to feel sick now, but I force myself to keep looking. I need to know who I'm still up against. I need to.

Surprisingly, only one from 8; a tall, gangly boy who didn't seem particularly good at anything in training. That means Kieran and Tanya are still alive. I hope to God Betony's safe with them.

A wide-eyed, nervous-looking girl from 9.

Both of the boys from 10.

The anthem plays again and the sky fades back into twilight.

"Thank you." I whisper. Perhaps to the wind, perhaps to God, heck, maybe even the Gamemakers. They're alive. Baxter, Haymitch and little Betony are _alive_. Thank goodness!

I close my eyes and try to fall asleep again.

* * *

I hear leaves crunching, twigs snapping underfoot. Lazily, I open one eye. It takes a moment to remember where I am, and immediately I feel adrenaline starting to pump through my veins. I force myself to stay lying down, my breathing to stay steady. I may still be able to use the element of surprise.

"Shh!" The person whispers. Which means they aren't alone.

When the footsteps stop, it is indeed two pairs of boots standing beside me. I sit up, hands coiled in fists.

Whoever it is laughs, and I immediately recognise it.

"Betony!" I hiss. "Don't sneak up on me like that!"

"It was Jill's idea." Betony quickly passes the blame onto my District 4 friend.

Jill rolls her eyes. "_She_ went along with it."

"That doesn't excuse the fact that you're _both_ sneaking up on me in the middle of the night!" I grumble.

Immediately, Jill holds a hand out to me. I stare at it, unsure what to do. Jill elbows Betony and she quickly holds out one of her hands too.

"Allies?" Jill asks. "I mean, you're a hard girl to track down, and we need all the help we can get."

I put one of my hands in each of theirs and shake up and down excitedly.

"Yes!" Because now there's three of us to look for water, to look for shelter, for food. There's three of us to fight any attackers. There's someone to stay on guard while two of us sleep. "Yes, yes, _yes_!"

"Jeez, looks like the loneliness is getting to someone." Jill teases. "I'll stay guard first; you two get some sleep."

Betony sits beside me. Jill smiles warmly as I set my head back down on my backpack. Betony snuggles up against my shoulder, and I don't have the heart to tell her that her hair is tickling my face.

"I'll wake you up when it's your turn." Jill whispers. It's the last thing I hear before drifting off to sleep.

* * *

**I'm just wondering if anybody would be interested in a sequel, once all this is over (don't panic- that's a while off yet!)? Of course, it wouldn't include Maysilee. But it'd show the events after this. So it'd show how Haymitch became the drunk, sarcastic man Katniss knows, as well as his Victory Tour. It'd show what happened to his brother, 'his girl' and Wilhelm. And how Mr. and Mrs. Everdeen got together. And Mr. and Mrs. Undersee. And maybe I'll throw the Mellarks and the Hawthornes in there too.**

**So, I guess the question is, would anyone want to read that?**


	20. Mr Mace

**Woah. I wasn't expecting so many people to say 'yes'! Or so many reviews; last chapter hit Running's review record, I think. So... YAY! Thank you all SO MUCH!**

* * *

After a night of swapping guard duty with Jill (we figured Betony needed her sleep more than we did) every few hours, the three of us set off early the next morning.

"My class's survival expert said it's best to look for shelter first." I tell the others as we walk. "I'm guessing all the river water's poisoned, so we'll put hunting for fresh water off for the moment. And, as for food, there's some beef jerky in my bag."

"If need be, I can make a net or something." Jill assures me. "My dad's a fisherman, and I used to help him sometimes. Well, _Jon_ helped. I... Watched... But you pick it up."

"My daddy's a coalminer." Betony states cheerfully.

Jill and I glance at each-other over Betony's head. "That isn't _really_ going to help us here, Tiny." My D4 friend tells her gently. If Betony hears, she doesn't show it.

* * *

About halfway through the morning, at my best guess, we reach the meadow at the edge of the forest once more. The tall grass sways as a light breeze flutters past. It ripples, like water. And it's utterly, breath-takingly beautiful. You can't deny it.

"I'm thirsty." Betony announces.

"We've already been through this, Betony," I sigh. "The river water's poisoned; I saw Laura die myself."

Jill looks at me with one eyebrow raised in curiosity.

"Laura's one of the girls from District 5." I clarify for her quickly before looking back at Betony. "It _didn't_ look pretty; I don't want it happening to you."

"I know." Betony huffs. "But I'm just so _thirsty_!"

"Maybe there's some water at the Cornucopia?" Jill suggests. "I mean, they wouldn't be cruel enough to poison _bottled_ water, would they?"

"They're cruel enough to make forty-eight kids fight each-other to the death."

She ignores my comment and starts walking into the long grass. Betony looks at me and wrinkles her nose in an adorable smile before scampering after her. I switch the backpack strap over from my left hand to my right before heading off too.

As we walk, we prepare for the very-likely threat of Careers. The chances of the Careers' base being near the Cornucopia are high; new supplies are dropped off there every day, and there's obviously plenty to salvage from yesterday anyway.

We stop just before the circle of short, mowed grass.

"If you have any weapons, get them now." Jill whispers. I unzip my bag and take out my blowgun, the silver case. Betony takes the backpack from me and zips it back up, grinning. I smile back at her as I slide my nail between the lip of the silver case's lid and the side, flipping it open. Taking my poisoned dart from yesterday, I slot it into my blowgun and snap the case shut again, handing it to Jill. She gives me an odd look, but quickly cottons on to what I'm thinking and nods.

The three of us burst through the final wall of long grass and into the clearing. Jill and I subconsciously make sure Betony's behind us, I notice.

A girl stands in front of us, brandishing a mace menacingly. When she sees our rather… Rubbish weapons (a blowgun, a backpack and a metal case), she lowers her own.

"I won't hurt you if you don't hurt me." She suggests the truce.

Jill and I glance at each-other and back at her. "We can live with that." I say, turning to take the bag from Betony and put my blowgun back inside. I hold a hand out to Jill, who slaps the case down in it so hard it hurts. I glare at her as she bursts into fits of laughter before I put the case back in the bag and zip it up.

"Where are the Careers?" I ask Mace-girl, taking a step toward the various spoils scattered around. The Careers have already taken the _best_ things, of course, but there's still some useful little bits.

"They went up into the mountain area." Mace-girl explains. "I overheard them talking about it."

"And they didn't see you?" Jill asks, admiration evident in her voice.

The girl looks at her like she's insane. "Of course not. And even if they did, I had Mr. Mace. _No-one_ messes with Maisy when she has Mr. Mace." She's talking about herself in third person. God.

"You gave the mace a name?" Jill asks in a monotone.

Maisy giggles. "Yep."

"_Okay_." Jill drags the word out, turning to grab Betony's arm and pull her in my general direction so that we can go through the gear here together.

"Come on, Mr. Mace." Maisy says, stroking her weapon's handle gently. "Let's go get some FOOD!" And she skips off into the long grass.

Well, she's certainly a few berries short of a basket, isn't she?

Pushing Maisy and 'Mr. Mace' out of our minds, the three of us scour what's left at the Cornucopia for anything useful.

Betony finds a packet of salted peanuts underneath some sort of tarpaulin, which we consider taking. We decide against it when we discover the enormous rip stretching across almost its entire length.

"Don't eat the nuts until we have water." I warn the others. "They'll just make you even thirstier. They use that trick in the pub back home, sometimes."

"You go to the pub?" Jill looks at me quizzically. "Under-aged, much?"

I smirk. "I don't _drink_ anything. I just go there to steal peanuts."

"Of course." She doesn't sound convinced. I open my mouth in order to come out with an ingenious and witty comeback of my own, but a rustle in the tall grass across the Cornucopia stops me.

Betony almost throws the backpack at me and I unzip it as silently as I can, digging out my blowgun and dart case. I slip it open, take the single poisoned dart, and slot it into the silver pipe.

Maisy jumps through the grass. The three of us in our alliance visibly relax.

"My base isn't _that_ way." She says matter-of-factly, lifting her mace so that it rests on her shoulder like a knap-sack, the heavily spiked ball at the end loitering mere inches from her shoulder. "Gosh, I'm so _silly_ sometimes."

She traipses past as casually. The three of us just watch, confused by her care-free nature in a place like this, as she disappears into the long grass across from where she just entered.

"Okay," Jill swallows, nodding her head once. "_That_ was weird."

"She's funny." Betony concludes. "I like her."

I decide to keep my blowgun loaded and in my hand, in case we're attacked on the way back. Prepare for the worst, huh?

"Let's get back to the woods." I say. "If it comes down to it, we can build a shelter there out of branches or something."

* * *

By the time we reach the woods, Betony is complaining that she's thirsty. The feeling is mutual and, even if Jill doesn't voice it, I know she's desperate for water too.

But I can't let them drink from the river. I _know_ what I saw, and it wasn't pretty.

About midway through the afternoon, Jill suggests we build a lean-to.

"It's better than nothing." She reasons. "It'll keep of the elements, and if someone was chasing us, they'd have to move it if they want to reach us."

So she sends me and Betony off to gather sticks, twigs and leaves. She finds a thick, sturdy oak and leans the larger twigs against it, layering the leaves and the smaller twigs on top.

"Let's test it." She says.

Betony climbs in first, as she's the smallest. She keeps close to the floor, tucks her legs in beneath her chin and presses her back against the tree trunk. I, being the next smallest, go in second. I find a nook beside Betony and curl my feet underneath me, keeping my head low to avoid getting my hair tangled in the branches.

Jill comes in last. Somehow, she manages to make herself small enough to fit inside our make-shift shelter.

"It's not very comfortable." She concludes, retaining her hunched up position. "But it'll do for tonight."

She crawls out, as do I. Betony does so a little reluctantly; squished as it may be in there, I think she feels safer inside our 'shelter'.

We sit in a circle outside it.

"Don't make a fire." Jill says, before Betony can start rubbing two pieces of flint together. "_That's_ the first thing the Careers will look for; you can see the smoke for miles."

"Why didn't you join them?" I ask. "The Careers, I mean. You could've done."

She smirks. "And I was going to." Her eyes drop to her hands, which are fiddling with each-other in her lap. It's strange to see someone who's usually so confident acting nervous, even if only slightly so. "But… The Bloodbath…" She looks up at me, though her hands continue their little dance. "I just stood there. I watched Tom, he went right up to one of the girls from 7, snapped her neck in one motion. She was trying to get _away_, Maysilee," Jill's voice hitches. "And he ran after her." Her eyes go back to her hands. I think she's trying not to cry, hoping we can't see it. "And then I saw Betony. She just looked so lost, so afraid,"

"I _was_ scared." Betony tells me, her cheerful tone a stark contrast to Jill's current one. "There was so much _red_."

Red? She must mean the blood. Why couldn't she just say blood? Unless she's more scared of all these corpses, blood and violence than I am. Bless her.

"I had to do _something_." Jill says firmly. "I went to get a knife, so I that was armed with something when I ran," Her eyes lock on mine. There's a fierceness in those sea-green eyes that's new to me. "I picked one up, turned around, and saw,"

"There was a skinny boy," Betony picks up for her. "A little taller than you, I think."

"Shine." Jill whispers. "His name was Shine. He went for Betony."

"He was all the way across from me!" Betony insists.

"But he was walking _toward_ you!" Jill snaps, loudly. I can tell she immediately feels bad, because she looks back down at her lap again and continues in a much quieter tone. "He had a cutlass and he was walking towards her. I didn't think, I just moved. Before I knew it, my hand was empty and a knife was hurtling through the air, landed in his head."

"We ran then." Betony tells me. "Jill did, and she grabbed my hand as she went past."

Jill gives me a weak, haunting smile. "So we're doomed, I think." She says shakily. "Because Veronica hates _you_, and _I_ betrayed them."

* * *

**I'm not ashamed in the slightest to admit that Maisy is incredibly similar to me. I didn't even realise until I read through it and thought "Hold on... That's _exactly_ what I'm like!"**

**I regret nothing.**


	21. Rain, Rain, Rain

**Thank you, thank you, thank you to all my lovely reviewers, alerters and favouriters. Thanks so MUCH!**

**I updated earlier this week too (Tuesday, I think). So if you haven't read last chapter, you probably should before you start this one. Otherwise it won't make as much sense.**

**The song Betony sings part of in this chapter is 'My Old Man', also known as 'Don't Dilly-dally' and 'My Cock Linnet'. It probably has a gazillion other names but they're the only ones I can think of off the top of my head. I'm pretty sure it's a London song, but it seemed to work for District 12, for some reason.**

* * *

I'm quick to change the subject, once Jill's green eyes actually do look like they might spill tears all over her tanned face. Honestly, we can't have _that_!

Figuring it's best to avoid talking about Jon too, and thus home, I ask her about her favourite song.

"My Mummy's favourite is _'My Old Man'_" Betony recalls. "_Everybody_ in our _whole_ road knows it. Frances hums it sometimes, when she thinks I can't hear her."

This must be a Seam song, because I've never heard of it. I keep quiet; we don't want to embarrass the little girl.

"How does it go?" Jill asks.

Betony cheeks tinge slightly pink. "Have I got to sing it?"

"Well, how else will I know the tune of it?" A slight smirk plays across Jill's face.

Betony looks at the floor. "Fair enough." Deep breath. She looks over at me. "Do you know it, Maysilee?"

Damn it! I shake my head. "Sorry."

She sighs sadly, and I almost feel bad for having never hear of it, and starts her little song.

"_My old man, s__aid "follow the van, a__nd don't dilly-dally on the way." __Off went the van with my old man in it. __I followed on with my old cock linnet. __But I dillied and dallied, d__allied and dillied. L__ost my way and don't know where to roam. __You can't trust the specials like the old time coppers, a__nd I can't find my way home."_

She's looking at her knee, apparently amazed by it. I think she's just embarrassed. Bless. It's actually really sweet. Maybe this'll get her sponsors? Act all sweet and shy?

"It's different to what we have in D4." Jill informs her. "Most of _our_ traditional songs are to do with the sea, or to keep sailors in time, or are about sailors." She trails off.

"What?" Betony presses, looking at her intensely. "Jill, did you hear something?"

"I felt…" She looks up. "Rain…" She says it like she doesn't quite believe it, like she's sure she's imagining it. And the way she just looks at her hands after she says it strongly suggests she feels that way.

But I jump up onto my feet anyway, ignoring the pins and needles that are apparently so keen to make my right foot numb. I lift a hand to shield my eyes from the setting sun's violent glare, examining the clouds above. They're grey. And grey clouds are usually full to the brim with-

A drop of water splashes against the back of my hand.

I lower it, stare at it. It's not going purple, or green, or any other colour. In fact, my hand feels completely normal, just a little wet.

The rain quickly gets heavier and Betony lifts her head to the sky, standing and opening her mouth in an attempt to catch the water, like little children do back home in 12 when it's snowing. I reach inside our shelter, grab the small orange backpack, and unzip it. Hastily ripping the bowl out, I hold it above my head. Fill up, you damn thing. Fill up!

Jill cups her hands together, waiting for a small puddle of rain to form in her palms before lifting it to her lips.

I lower the bowl and use it as a cup, drinking and drinking. I didn't realise my throat was so dry, so raspy, until I'd fixed it. I hold the bowl above my head again, planning to catch some water to save; we don't know how long it will be until the Gamemakers decide to give us another rainstorm.

No longer so parched, the three of us snuggle up inside our lean-to. I've got to cuddle the backpack against me tightly, so that it's unlikely it'll be stolen while we sleep. The bowl of water I collected sits just outside, by Jill's head. If someone gets to it, she'll know.

The anthem plays, and I catch who's been killed through the small gaps between the larger sticks above my head; Tanya, from 8. I hear Betony sniffle beside me and feel something nuzzle against my shoulder. Probably her face. I can't turn my head round far enough to see. Then there are both boys from 9. The anthem plays once more and then the sky turns back into stars, any final traces of the rainclouds gone for good.

"She's somewhere better, Tiny," Jill soothes as Betony sobs against my shoulder. "Anywhere's better than here."

"I just…" Betony takes a shuddering breath. "I didn't get to say goodbye."

You'd have to have a heart of stone not to be touched by this. Maybe some kind soul will sponsor us, so Wilhelm can send us something exciting in a parachute.

That's far too optimistic. No-one's going to sponsor us when the Career pack are as strong as they are, when Veronica's so pretty and Maisy's so intriguing.

We're not going to get sponsors. Ever.

* * *

When I awake, Betony's face is pressed somewhat uncomfortably in the crook between my neck and shoulder, and what I think must be Jill's foot is lodged against my stomach.

In short, it's not comfy.

I roll my shoulder round in an attempt to rouse Betony gently. This completely fails, because she bolts upright, dislodging the sticks above us with the top of her head. This cause them all to collapse on top of us, which awakens Jill, obviously.

We all struggle to clamber out from beneath the piles of sticks and leaves that _was_ our house. After taking a moment to remember and pay homage to our fallen shelter, I grab the backpack from the rubble. Jill takes the bowl, making sure not to spill a single drop, and we set off. I'm not sure where we're setting off to, but we do it anyway.

"I want," Jill pauses to catch her breath as we continue trekking through the woods. "To find that bastard who killed my brother. I want to kill them myself. I feel horrible for thinking it, but I do. I want to make him _pay_."

"But there are so many Careers this year." Betony points out. "How can you know which one it was?"

My stomach lurches at the memory of Jon's body, his intestines falling from his side. "I know who did it."

"How?" Jill asks suspiciously.

"It wasn't _me_!" I promise. "I was hiding in the trees; Veronica was looking for me, I think. The others wanted-" I swallow. "The others wanted to get 'the traitor'."

"Me." Jill whispers.

"And Jon tried to stop them." I continue.

"Which one of them was it?" Jill asks fiercely. "Or did they _all_ chip in on the action?"

I hurriedly shake my head; no. "The girl from 1, with the braid."

Jill carries on walking. Betony and I glance at each-other before hurrying after her.

"The name's Pixie." Jill explains. "She's a traitorous, back-stabbing little bitch."

"It's funny, because she actually did stab his back." I remark. "Or, rather, his side."

Jill grimaces. "Oh, she's going to pay for _this_."

I grab her arm. "Not now." I say. "Not yet. Leave it a few days, until the Career pack isn't so big. Right now, hunting her down would be suicide."

She glares at me, but I think it's because she knows I'm right. With a roll of her eyes, she wrenches her arm from my fingers and continues walking.

"Where are we going?" I ask, scurrying up to her side. Betony slips her hand into mine, her footsteps falling into sync with Jill's and my own.

"Rain water runs _down_, right?" Jill looks at us. We both give her blank expressions; I never exactly made it a habit to learn about rainwater back home in 12, and apparently, neither did Betony.

Jill looks like she wants to hit her head against a tree in frustration, but her voice remains calm.

"It rained last night, remember?" We both nod slowly and she continues. "Well, rainwater that fell at the _top_ of the mountain will have rolled _down_ it. With me so far?"

Betony and I both nod slowly, unsurely.

"That means that if there's any _drinkable _water," Jill announces proudly. "It's at the base of the mountain."

"Won't someone else have had that notion too?" I point out.

"The Careers will be hanging out near the Cornucopia." Jill dismisses. "That's what they do every year."

"And the other tributes?" I press. "What about the two left from 6? I know they're in an alliance too; I saw them."

"Well, then, let's hope we find a decent weapon on the way there."

"What?" I manage to keep from yelling. Just. "It's not like they just magically appear on the ground or anything, is it?"

Jill whirls round and looks me dead in the eye, her expression fierce and determined. "We show the rest of the world what we can do." She takes a shaky breath. "And we pray for Sponsors." She turns away and continues walking, each step filled with anger.

Betony squeezes my hand and the two of us dash after the District 4 girl.

* * *

We crossed the field filled with the tall, vibrant grass. Deciding it was safer if we stayed away from the Cornucopia, we walked around the edge. It meant the crossing took an awful lot longer, but we were all in one piece at the end of it.

After searching the base of the mountain for a while, we found a rocky cave. Having checked it for wild animals, we deemed it safe and dumped our stuff inside. I helped Jill move a large rock from a little higher up the mountain to serve as a door. Then we all settled round a small fire inside the cave.

I think that just about brings us up to the present.

Betony has the now-opened bag of peanuts nestled in her lap. She takes one or two at a time. I've noticed she sucks the salt off before swallowing. Like Anise always used to do.

I quickly look over at Jill before memories of home start to surface. She's prodding the fire with a stick, trying to coax it into growing bigger.

A hear a thud and watch her head dart up, her eyes meeting mine.

Betony, blissfully unaware, continues to eat peanuts. Jill nods toward the entrance to the cave, and I feel my shoulders tense. As the rock that's serving as our door starts to slide, the sound of rock grating against rock quiet, but unmistakably there, Jill holds the stick in the flames. When she pulls it out, the end furthest from her is flaming.

"Keep Tiny safe." She instructs in a whisper, setting off for the cave entrance.

I feel desperate to say something- anything- in case this is the last chance I'll ever have. "Stay alive!" I find myself whispering back. I can't see Jill's face as she stands with her back to me, watching the stone move, but I'm sure she's smiling.

I stand up and slip my hands underneath Betony's arms, lifting her up. She opens her mouth to say something, but I 'shhh!' her before she has chance. She just nods and picks up the backpack from beside her feet, stuffing the peanuts inside and zipping it, slinging the strap over her shoulder.

I usher her to the back corner of the cave and we sit down. I pull my knees up beneath my chin, wrap my arms round the younger girl, and close my eyes.

"Why hello, Traitor," Sneers a voice.

"Pixie," Jill's voice answer's coolly. "I hear you're the bitch that killed my brother?"

"You heard right." Pixie confirms. "Though I wouldn't use the word 'bitch'. That's incredibly rude, you know."

"You killed Jon."

A hear a snort of laughter. "I know."

And then there's a scream, and I can't tell who's it is. I just squeeze my eyes shut even tighter, pull Betony against me so close I'm surprised she hasn't cried out in pain. Instead, one of her small, calloused hands finds my shoulder and squeezes it just as tightly as I'm squishing her. And we both fight our hardest to stay silent as we hear our friend fighting the girl who killed her brother.

They're both so deadly, both so good at fighting. But, in the end, it's Pixie who's the best at these things. And we all know it. Even Jill, I'm sure. But her need for revenge blots out her common sense right now.

I just hope it's powerful enough to fuel her movements and save her.

After a while, the grunts from the other end of the cave fall silent, are replaced by nothing but heavy breathing. I imagine Jill, lying on the floor, slowly bleeding out, Pixie's triumphant smile. Hurriedly, I push the thought away.

"Leave her alone." My heart stops and I subconsciously try to make myself smaller. It's Baxter. Great. Please don't see me, please don't see me. If anybody knows where I'm hiding, it'll be Baxter; he knows me so well. Great. Great, great, _great_.

"_You're_ not in charge." I hear Pixie huff. "And Ore isn't here."

"Just like _you're_ not supposed to be." I can hear the smug tone in his voice. "There'll be plenty of time to kill… The traitor…" It sounds almost like it pains him to say it. "But, for now, we need to set up camp. Your allegiances lie with-"

"With the Alliance, I know." Pixie interrupts. "Not to myself. Blah blah blah. I've heard it all already."

"Stick to it then." He scolds. I try not to remember all of the times when that voice was used on me, on Macy, when we were naughty in our younger years. "Get back to base."

"This isn't over, Angler." Pixie threatens Jill. I hear her footsteps storming off angrily.

"I'll look forward to it, Glam." Jill shouts back, followed by a heart-wrenchingly pained cough.

"Don't strain yourself." I catch Baxter whisper. "And… Keep my girls safe, okay?"

"I have been, haven't I?" I can hear the smile in her voice, no matter how weak it sounds.

I wait for Baxter's footsteps to run, following Pixie's into the night, before I dare to raise my head, open my eyes.

The grip on my shoulder tightens before I've looked anywhere past my own knees, and I prepare myself for the worst.

"Hey," Jill says, blood seeping through her fingers as they clutch a cut on her right arm. One leg supports her, props her up against the wall, whilst the other- clearly painfully- rests beside her. "It could be worse."


	22. The Volcano Erupts

**I apologise in advance. Don't hate me.**

* * *

"Jill!" I squeak in a way that's very unlike myself. I stand up and release Betony, dash to the 'doorway' and somehow manage to (albeit with much complaint from various aching muscles who are adamant that they don't want to be used) push the rock back over the entrance, hopefully hiding us from view.

"It was a good fight though, right?" Jill attempts optimism.

"We weren't watching." Betony replies honestly. She's still sitting in the back of the cave, eyes trained on her knee. Refusing to look at Jill's injuries.

I shuffle over to my D4 friend.

"Move your fingers." I instruct.

She does so reluctantly. I hold in my gasp, not wanting to shock her, but apparently she can read me like a book anyway. I never was good at hiding emotions.

"It's bad, isn't it?" She rests her head back, against the wall. "Do you think it's gonna get infected?"

"I'm not sure." I admit, racking my brain for everything and anything I've ever seen Mrs. Pottingner do in the apothecary. Every tip her husband commented from the sidelines, every snide remark Anise made during class, whenever we were learning about how the body works, infections and medicines.

My mind is annoyingly blank.

"Oh, God, Anise," I whisper, smacking my forehead against the cave wall repeatedly. "I need you. _We_ need you."

And then, for good measure,

"Damn it, Wilhelm! You're supposed to send us sponsor gifts, not blank us completely!"

I can almost imagine the smirk on his face as he's watching this. I have never, in my entire life, wanted to punch anybody more than I want to punch him right now.

Urgh! This is so frustrating!

"Mags will send something." Jill says calmly. "Veronica and Billy are safe, probably barely injured. She'll send me something."

"She'd better."

I ease Jill down into a lying position on the floor and offer to take the first watch. She doesn't say anything, but the thanks glitters in her sea-green eyes as she curls up as best she can with a bleeding arm and an injured leg.

It takes some persuasion, but eventually Betony crawls out from the shadows at the back of the cave. She curls up beside me, with her head in my lap, and I untie her braid, run my fingers through her hair in an attempt to soothe her, to help her get to sleep. I've no idea how late it is when she finally does.

* * *

I fall asleep too. I don't remember doing it, but I know I must when I open my eyes and lift a hand to rub the sleep out of them. Betony sits a little way away, watching the fire, refusing to look at Jill and her injuries.

"Morning," The small girl says.

"Morning," I say weakly in response, crawling round the fire to the side of our third member.

She's rolled the sleeve of her shirt up, to expose the cut on her arm to the air. She's probably hoping it'll heal faster. One can only pray…

I move my attention to her leg. She hasn't been able to reach the injuries there, and the blood as dried the material of her trousers to her skin.

"We've got to sort that out." I tell her. "I take it you didn't get any sponsor gifts in the night?"

"I will." She promises. That's code for 'No, Maysilee, I didn't.' She tries to sit up only to have me push her back down again; she needs to conserve her strength and all that. I remember _that_ much from Anise's apothecary business. "Just give it time."

"But we might not _have_ time!" I insist. I look over at Betony. "Did anyone die in the night?"

She shakes her head; no. "They didn't show any pictures this morning. I found a hole between the rock and the mouth of the cave. It's only small, but I could see through it."

"And there weren't any last night…" I remember.

Oh. Oh dear. That's not good. That's _really_ not good.

If nobody's died since Day 2, that means the Capitol audience will be getting bored. And if the Capitol audience are getting bored…

Well, that's not a good sign for _us_, let's leave it at that.

"How many of us left?" Betony asks. A small part of me hopes the innocent little soul isn't thinking along the same lines as me, but her grim expression tells me she is. She's growing up far quicker than she should have to.

"There was Jon," Jill seethes.

"And Laura," I add. "That's two. Plus the eighteen in the Bloodbath; that's twenty."

"Then there was Tanya," Betony adds. "And that other person."

"Twenty-two lost." I never was good at maths. "That leaves…"

"Twenty-six." Jill finishes for me. "There's twenty-six of us left."

I slump down by the fire and wriggle my fingers, trying to work the night's numbness out of them. "That's a lot." I say as I do so. "How can _no-one_ have died yesterday?"

"Because everyone left is good at what they do." Jill suggests, adding in a terrifyingly accurate Capitol accent, "This is where the fun begins."

A cannon booms just as she finishes her sentence. I'd say it was well-timed, were that not such a sick thing to say.

Please don't be Haymitch, or Baxter, or Thyme or… Anyone I like… Please…

Jill's in no fit state to go outside, and neither me nor Betony are particularly eager to go by ourselves, or leave Jill alone. So we stay inside the cave, chatting and eating peanuts, pretending this is all one happy little slumber party, that our parents will be knocking on that 'door' any minute now, ready to pick us up and walk us home.

I hear a scream from outside and immediately jump into a standing position. With Jill down, it's up to me to keep Betony safe. She is _not_ getting into any fights. Not while I'm here.

I grab the backpack, snatch my blowgun and darts case from it, and take the single poisoned one. Slotting it in place, I dump the case and the bag with Betony, who hurriedly shoves the former into the latter and flings it over her shoulder, dashing to Jill's side instinctively.

I try to look intimidating as the 'door' rolls to the side, agonisingly slow, the unmistakable sound of rock grating against rock filling my ears.

The girl who stands in the doorway is short, with her brown hair in a messy bun and a knife held in her hand, its blade glinting in the sunlight now streaming into our cave. I blink a few times as my eyes adjust to the newfound sunshine.

"Clair," Jill struggles to sit up. Betony helps her into a sitting position and the older girl glares at the Career standing in the doorway. "If you try _anything_,"

"You hardly seem in a position to fight." Clair snaps back.

"I'm warning you," I say, feeling very out of place right now. "I'm armed and I will… Injure you… Slightly…"

Clair looks at me and laughs. It's not a mean laugh, like I would've expected. No, it's a pretty little laugh, which wrinkles her nose and makes her brown eyes sparkle.

I stand for a moment and try to decipher just how anything here is _funny_.

The floor shakes and Clair's face immediately turns serious. Before I have chance to question anything, she's talking. "The mountain's a volcano." She says hurriedly. "It's smoking like crazy. The scout we sent up there never came back. We think the smoke killed him."

I feel my stomach fall through the floor. "Not Baxter?" I manage to squeeze out.

She smiles. "No," And, for some reason, she seems genuinely pleased. It's weird, because I always thought Careers just waited to stab each-other in the back, that Baxter is just there until she has no need of him. Maybe he was right. Maybe they _are_ friends. "No, Baxter's fine. He's the one that sent me here, actually. He told me to…" She trails off.

"What?" I press.

The floor shudders beneath my feet and I cast a concerned look at my team mates. Betony is holding Jill up, gentle but firm. I stagger to the 'door' just as the floor begins to settle and look up the mountain, Clair stands beside me, looking upwards too.

"Fuck." She whispers, and I have to agree with her.

The mountain's started spitting lava. The orange globules are being thrown high up into the air, like the splash when you drop a pebble into a pond. Only water won't burn your skin on contact. This will.

"We have to move!" I say quickly, dashing back inside to Jill and helping Betony lift her to her feet. She winces as her bad leg is forced to help take her weight once more, but she doesn't scream, like I no doubt would in her place.

"Where to?" Betony asks.

"It's moving fast." Clair says anxiously. "_Really_ fast." There's silence as Betony and I let Jill drape her arms round her shoulders, so she can lean on us as she hops to the 'door'. "_Run_!"

And Clair's dashing away, as fast as her legs will carry her. I could go faster, but I'm not going to boast about that. Out loud, at any rate.

Once we're outside, I can't run my fastest because I have Jill to think of, and Betony certainly won't be able to keep up. It doesn't help that there are so many cannons, thundering off at what seem to be few minute intervals.

When we reach the fringe of the meadow, Jill insists we stop for a rest. And thought my heart is beating so frantically I can hear it clear as day, and my brain is screaming at me to run as fast as I can, I have to stop. I can't refuse her that. Look at her leg! I'm surprised she made it _this_ far without insisting for a break.

As she leans against Betony and struggles to catch her breath, the little girl swallows and pants heavily. I look over my shoulder and scream.

As loud as possible.

Well. _That's_ a hell of a lot nearer than I thought. If we don't move now, the lava flow that rushing down the volcano like a river will be upon us in a few minutes.

"We've got to move. Now!"

"No." Jill says, slumping to the floor. Betony takes a step away from her, looking as confused as I feel. "I can't."

"You can." I insist, nudging her hip with my toe. "Think of the medicine, Jill."

"It's not coming." She grumbles.

"It _is_!" Betony screams at her. "Jill, stand _up_!"

Jill ignores her, looking at me. "You run." She instructs. I realise she's been the leader of this alliance all along. And this is her last command. "You pick her up and you _run_, do you hear me?"

It's all I can do to nod.

Betony lets out a choked sob. "No!" She screeches again. "No, Jill! Get up!"

It takes all of my physical strength to lift her, kicking and screaming, off of the ground. I fling her over my shoulder, ignore the kicks to my stomach, the punches to my back. And that's quite a feat; that girl is _strong_ for someone so small!

"Stay alive." Jill whispers to us. "Please, _please_ just stay alive. And kill that bitch for me!" Pixie. She means Pixie.

"With pleasure." The words taste bitter in my mouth. I'm not sure whether or not I should hate the fact that I mean them. With all my heart.

Betony keeps howling, keeps kicking, keeps punching and screaming as I give Jill one last smile and dash into the undergrowth.

It takes all my strength not to go back there and… I don't know. Pick her up? Sit with her? I just feel awful simply leaving her to die without doing anything to try and reverse it, anything to calm her.

I ignore the cannons, try to kid myself it's not her. Even if Betony screams harder, her punches growing more and more insistent with every boom.

And when her picture flashes up in the sky that night, along with the other eleven tributes killed by that horrible lava flow (including Thyme, I realise with a shudder. And Kieran. Sweet, harmless little Kieran. _That_ sets Betony off again), I don't cry.

I want to. I'm not sure why, but I want to.

The tears just won't come.

* * *

**This was such a hard chapter to write. I hope I've done it well. You have no idea how evil I feel killing Jill off like that, but it seemed the most in-character way of doing it.**

**And what did we all think of Clair? She's going to do something very important later on.**


	23. Gift From The Heavens

**This is a short chapter, I'll warn you now. But it's paving the way for what should be a fun chapter next week ;)**

* * *

The next morning, Betony's still sniffling back tears. She's not crying so openly now, but I avoid touching on the subjects of Jill, Kieran, Tanya and Thyme.

If I'm honest, I want nothing more than the burst into tears myself. I want to find a little corner, tuck myself away, and bawl my eyes out. But I can't. Because that'll start Betony off, and I really don't have the energy to calm a screaming twelve year old right now.

I'm not a terrible person. I just can't handle kids very well.

We're walking through forest. I have one strap of the tiny backpack swung over one shoulder, my blowpipe clutched tightly in the hand of the opposite arm. Before we left, I poisoned a few more darts using the bright pink flowers on some sort of berry bush. Betony had pointed out that all the bees landing on the flowers fell to the forest floor, dead, before they had chance to fly away. Indeed, there was a carpet of dead bees at the base of the bush. And now there are two lumps of squished bees where I trod on them to reach the flowers with my ready-to-poison darts. Suckers. I don't like bees.

We work out as we walk that there are fourteen of us left.

"That's not very many." Betony notices. "Do you think we might win?" '_We'_. I doubt she's forgotten there's only one winner. Maybe she's just trying to lighten the mood or something.

I pause for a moment, ponder my choices. "I'd say we're in with a chance."

We're just settling on a tree stump for a quick lunch around noon when the sound of a cannon echoes around us. I leap out of my skin, which causes Betony to giggle. She quickly regains her composure when she remembers just what that cannon means. Please don't be Baxter, please don't be Haymitch.

And then I'm wondering if maybe some small, horrible part of me is silently praying it _is_ Baxter, it _is_ Haymitch. Because then I don't have to kill them if I want to get home again.

I blank that terrible, tiny part of me out and tune in to whatever Betony's saying.

"-Right, Maysilee?" She looks at me expectantly.

I'm tempted to just nod, but I can still remember the mess that got me into in the Training Centre, so instead I ask "Can you repeat that?"

She sighs, frustrated. "Do you think our families are watching? Right now?"

"Maybe." If I'm honest, I doubt that. Considering a cannon went of a little while ago, I'm going to guess they followed that poor tribute's death. And now, if they were murdered, they're following the murderers. And if they were in an alliance, they're watching those people mourn the loss of their ally. But there's a _chance_ we're on TV right now, sure.

"So…" She thinks for a minute. "Toby can see me? And baby Gracie?"

"I guess so."

"And Mum?" Each family member broadens the girl's smile. "And Dad? And Francis and… Everybody?"

I nod my head sleepily, struggling to keep up with all of the names she recalls so easily.

She let's out a small squeal of excitement and turns away from me, waving excitedly, like the aforementioned friends and family are standing only a few feet away. "Hello!" She says brightly. "I miss you all a lot, but it's alright. Maysilee will look after me."

My eyes snap to the back of her head. For some reason, I find it shocking she has such faith in me. It shouldn't come as so much of a surprise; I rescued her from Wilhelm a lot before we entered the Arena, and he's scary. But he was never intending to kill us.

"That's all, I think." She blows a kiss. "I love you all a lot." And she spins back round to face me, grinning. "Did they hear?"

I smile warmly. "Of course."

* * *

As the sun ends its descent, and I'm debating whether or not it would be wise to start a fire, the anthem plays. Both Betony and I look up to the heavens as they tell us just who died earlier today.

Rosemary.

It's sad, because she seemed like such a kind person. Not a patch on Thyme but still a pretty friendly girl.

I can't dwell on it for too long. I find two pieces of flint and start striking them against each-other in an attempt to create a spark, which will blossom into man's red flower. Betony sits cross-legged on the floor a little way away from me and examines the dirt and leaf debris on the ground.

A slow, steady 'beep-beep-beep' sound coming from behind me startles me, and I almost drop my flint. It takes a moment for me to remember just what that sound means and, when I do, I consciously drop my stones and turn to catch the parachute, the box on the end of it.

"We have a gift?" Betony jumps onto her feet and bounces over, standing on tiptoe as I open the box bearing the number 12. I pull out a slip of paper first. It's quite small, and blank. Wait…

I turn it over and find it's only blank on one side. Wilhelm put it in upside-down. Idiot. I read it in my head and I'm not sure whether to be scared of what it says or deliriously happy that we have sponsors: "Good luck, Blondie- W"

I hand the slip of paper to Betony- she can puzzle over it. It's not until I reach into the box and pull out a cool, smooth cylinder that I feel my heart sink. Pulling it out, I read the white writing around the side. It just confirms my fear; 'Coca-cola'.

The note immediately makes sense.

"Thank you, Wilhelm!" Betony gushes, like our mentor is standing next to us. She snatches the cylinder from me and stares at it, trying to figure out how to open it. After a while, she digs through the backpack and takes one of my un-poisoned darts. She uses this to pierce a hole in the top of the cylinder and take a swig.

Her eyes immediately go wide.

Damn it. This is not going to be fun for me at _all_.

* * *

**Anybody get the Jungle Book reference? I couldn't help myself.**


	24. A Demented Bunny-rabbit Of A Girl

**Ah, hyper Betony. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer- As well as the Hunger Games, there are several other things in this chapter I don't own, nor do I claim to. These would be a mixture of various song lyrics, and several Spiderman references.**

* * *

I'm not kidding; she _bounces_ around our little clearing for a bit like some sort of demented bunny-rabbit. She stops for a moment, hiccups, and goes to take another swig. Repeat cycle.

"I don't think that's a good idea." I say warningly as she goes to take her third mouthful of cola. "You'll be up all night."

She giggles in response and takes another sip anyway, bobbing up and down on the balls of her feet happily.

I go to take the can off of her, but she holds it behind her back and hisses at me like some sort of angry cat. And I have had plenty of experience with angry cats; Baxter has a tortoiseshell _thing_ when we were little kids. I swear that creature was evil. I roll my eyes and lunge for it again, but she steps around me and takes another sip of the devilish liquid.

"Lollipop, lollipop, oh lolli-lolli-lolli-lollipop." Betony sings brightly.

Now, I grew up in a sweet shop, so I think I'm in a safe position to say that our current situation has absolutely nothing to do with lollipops. "Betony, give me the coke."

"No." She bolts for it, like a startled deer. Or an evil bunny-rabbit about to be discovered. That seems to suit her more.

I sigh and pick the tiny backpack up off the floor, sling it over my shoulder, and trudge after the twelve year old. Seriously, she's going to run into a tree or something and knock herself out. The Careers aren't a threat here, I don't think. They'll take one look at her, realise her insanity has clearly gone on holiday and walk in the opposite direction. Lucky beggars. I have to follow the nutter.

I find Betony watching a squirrel inquisitively. It's watching her with equal curiosity. She reaches out to pet it, but it bares its teeth at her. It has… _Fangs_…

I grab Betony's shoulder and yank her back into me, away from the scary squirrel.

"Stay away, Bet." I warn her. "I think it's deadly."

She giggles. "It's a _squirrel_."

The squirrel, in response, hisses at her and swipes a paw full of claws through the air with a loud 'swish' sound. I start to run, holding Betony's wrist and dragging her with me. I don't feel like dying right now and, no matter how crazy she's feeling, she doesn't either. She's unfit to make her own decisions, and as designated older responsible person, I'll make it for her:

We _are_ running away from the evil squirrel. So there.

Betony's talking, and against my better judgement, I tune in to listen.

"Pink fluffy unicorns dancing on rainbows! Pink fluffy unicorns dancing on rainbows!"

Okay. That was a pointless tune-in.

I quicken my pace and round a corner, just as Betony starts singing about there being 'six billion people in the world, more or less'. I turn and face her.

"Betony, _darling_, you have to shh." I try to say calmly, but I can feel my frustration sneaking into my voice. "Or else the Careers will find us."

"Then I will kill them with my spidey powers." She announces.

I need a desk; I just _have_ to whack my head against it if I want to retain an ounce of my sanity at the end of today. "Betony, look,"

"Don't say it, Uncle Ben," Before I have chance to question her, she's continuing her lament. "With great power comes great responsibility. I _know_, Uncle Ben, I know." She nods her head solemnly.

I look at her, confused. "Who the hell is 'Uncle Ben'?"

She looks like she might burst into tears. "You're the Green Goblin, aren't you?"

"Um… _What_?"

"I knew it!" She screams. "I will defeat you, Green Goblin!"

"Uh-_huh_." I say, uncertain as to where this is going. "Can you please calm down?"

She shakes her head and turns to dash off again. I lunge forward and catch her wrist, but don't manage to put my leg out in time to stop myself and fall forwards. Spitting leaf debris out of my mouth I stand up and study the twelve year old girl in front of me. She grins brightly and I give her a small smile in return, telling my brain to ignore the throbbing pain in my knees and elbows from when they scraped across the ground just now.

"Listen, Betony," I say slowly, so that her brain can register every word. "I'm well aware of how boring this is going to sound, but you _have_ to calm down. Because I'm tired as it is, and I really don't have the energy to chase after you. As well as the fact that the other tributes will find us and _kill_ us if they hear you, alright?"

"I guess." She agrees uncertainly. "I want to run and jump and shout though."

"I know. But we can't; not here, not now."

"Well, where and when, then?" She sounds almost angry now. "This might be my last ever chance!"

I cross the fingers of my free hand behind my back. "No it isn't. Not if you win this Game."

She snickers. "Really? Me?" She tilts her head to the side. "Have you been drinking my cola?"

"No!" I say defensively, quickly. If she thinks I've been drinking her crazy-bananas juice, then there's something severe wrong with her. "And you have just as much chance of winning as everybody else!"

"You're lying."

"I'm not!"

"Your fingers are crossed. That means your lying."

How the hell did she notice me do that? I uncross them quickly and wave the free hand at her, to prove that I haven't lied. She rolls her eyes at me, like she knows I've just uncrossed them. She probably does.

* * *

She's still bouncing, still giggling at the slightest little things, but Betony slowly starts to lose her burst of hyper-activity. In its place rises a great sleepiness, one that has her yawning every few sentences she speaks.

Still, I keep my grip on her hand tight as we walk through the forest, looking for somewhere to make shelter. We find a stream, though of course we don't touch it. Still, we decide it might be an idea to set up camp near it. I poison a few more darts, bringing my total of deadly devices up to five. Five out of twenty four. I carefully put them all into the case and offer to take the first watch.

"Don't let me oversleep." Betony says sternly. "I know you keep watch longer than you're meant to. Just because I'm younger than you doesn't make me stupid."

"I promise." I sigh, not actually intending to follow through with this 'promise'. The look that Betony gives me as she settles down on the floor beside me shows she figures as much. I smile innocently as she puts her head down and gives a wide, tired yawn. She's asleep pretty quickly after that.

I sit down and pull my legs up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them and resting my chin on my knees. This is going to be a _long_ night.

* * *

I'm awoken by the sound of a twig snapping, and someone hissing at somebody else to be quiet. Damn it, I was _not_ meant to fall asleep! My eyes snap open, my head flying up to see who's approaching. My hand's already inching toward the bag to my right, my brain already debating whether or not I should shake Betony awake now or whether I should let her sleep, draw the intruder away from her.

"Shh!" Hisses someone.

"Sorry!" Another voice whispers back. My hand finds the zip of the bag, slides it silently across, and slips through the gap. I find the pipe that is my blowgun, the now-familiar cold metal case for my darts. I take them both out and flip the silver box open, take on of the poison darts, load it into my blowgun and toss the case in the general direction of the backpack.

Standing up, I grip my blowgun tighter and squint. It's too dark to see much, though the moon sure is bright tonight. I can't see further than a tree a little way ahead, and everything is almost in black-and-white.

"You woke her up!" Snaps somebody. "You idiot!"

"We shouldn't even _be_ here." Complains a second voice. "If the others find out… We'll be in trouble. And I don't know about you, but that big guy Clair fancies looks like he could snap my neck in two."

"He's a no-hope from D12, Billy." I can hear the smirk in the voice, and I recognise it almost immediately. Veronica's. Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn, _damn_.

"No-hope, eh?" I say loudly, casting a quick- and slightly anxious- glance it Betony's direction. She shuffles slightly in her sleep, but nothing more. I turn back to scanning the darkness for the intruders, and pray to myself that it's just the two of them. As hellish as it would be, I'd rather have just those two than the whole pack.

"That's right, 12." Veronica's voice says from somewhere behind me. I whirl round to find her, only to find she isn't there. Or, if she is, she's too far away for me to see her in this infernal darkness!

"I beg to differ." I say, gasping slightly when I feel an arm hook round my neck from behind. Veronica's chin is resting on one of my shoulders, her hand resting on the other and her forearm taught across my neck. "Where the hell did you come from?"

She ignores me. "Billy, knife please." She holds out her other hand.

"Vera…"

"Now!"

I can see him out the corner of my eye. He tosses the weapon a little way into the air and catches the blunt edge of the blade, slapping the handle into Veronica's outstretched palm. She lets out a noise that reminds me of the witches in the fairy stories. It's more like a cackle than a laugh.

"This is stupid." Billy grumbles. "If Pixie catches us..." He lets out a long whistle noise, signalling that the two of them would be very doomed if Pixie were to catch them. I doubt Betony and I would be in a much better situation, if I'm honest.

"Pixie isn't going to catch-"

"What's going on?" My grip tightens on my blowgun even more as Pixie approaches. "You two weren't supposed to leave camp."

"I told you!" Billy jabs his finger at his District partner triumphantly. "Didn't I? I did! Ha!"

Veronica relaxes her arm, pulls it back to her side. My free hand shoots up to my neck, massaging it gently, whilst I spin on one foot to face her. Idiot. She would've killed me.

My eyes fix on Pixie's. They narrow. As do mine.

"I'll take these bozos back to base." She says, meaning Billy and Veronica. They both glare at her, clearly unappreciative of her collective name for them. "But I'll come back for you two, don't worry." She feigns a sweet smile.

"Thank _goodness_ for that." I say sarcastically, adding an equally false grin of my own.

I wave them off like a mother might her children on their first day of school. The moment the three of them have disappeared into the darkness, I crouch down and shake Betony awake.

"I didn't steal the monkeys." She murmurs as she sits up. Rubbing an eye, she looks around. Her grey gaze fixes on mine. "Is it my go to keep watch?"

"No." I say flatly. "We need to move."

"Why?"

"Because Pixie's coming for us."

I rise and hold out a hand, which Betony quickly grabs and uses to pull herself up. Before I have chance to instruct her in anything, she's checking that everything's in the backpack, slinging it over her shoulder and looking at me pointedly. "Well, let's go then!"

I wish I had her energy. I really do.


	25. Please Say Goodbye For Me

**Woah! I've just realised that this has more story alerts than Brynn's Diary! That's... Wow. Honestly, thanks, guys!**

**Update: Thank you Mays for pointing out that little blip. I've fixed it now :).**

* * *

The whole of the next morning, I'm on tenterhooks. Every little noise, and my mind leaps to the conclusion that it's Pixie, or Veronica, or Billy, here to get me and little Betony. And we won't be so fortunate next time; Pixie promised as much.

I try to keep my discomfort and nerves to a minimum; I don't want them to rub off on Betony. I'm pretty sure she notices anyway, though. She's not stupid, as she so often points out. Still, she keeps up her chipper nature, and I'm incredibly grateful for it.

About midday, she insists we stop.

"You need to sleep." She insists. "You didn't all night!"

I shake my head, but my brain has other ideas. I let out a loud yawn. Betony gives me a triumphant grin, clearly glad that she's won this argument, and I lie down on the floor grumpily.

"Wake me up if you hear anything." I instruct flatly. "Or _see_ anything. Or even if you just _feel_ scared or something. It's better to be safe than sorry."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." She drags out.

Against my better judgement, I close my eyes and settle to sleep in the leaf debris, the twelve year old coalminer's daughter from the Seam keeping watch beside me. My last thought before I drift of is that I don't think I've ever put so much trust in one person. There was Jill, but Betony was always there, and she always woke me up after a few hours of watch anyway. But there's only one little Betony now.

* * *

I stand in my bedroom, study myself in the mirror. I'm wearing a long white dress which touches the floor, with net-like white sleeves that are too big, and hang past my hands in a strangely elegant sort of way. In my hair is a circlet of freshly picked flowers. Macy's head pokes over my shoulder and she smiles. Her hair is braided back elaborately, unlike mine, which is brushed but left lose.

"I can't believe it!" She beams at our reflections. "My sister, getting married!"

"I never thought I'd see the day myself, if I'm honest." I say wryly, locking eyes with my reflection. They're wide and tired-looking, which is strange. Why should I look so tired and pale? I have no reason to.

"You're growing up, sis." She gives my shoulder a squeeze. "Far quicker than I am."

"Oh, thanks." I say sarcastically. She laughs brightly and I can't help but smile at the noise, at all of the joy it contains.

"You love me really!" She teases.

"Yes." I practically whisper. "Yes, I do."

"You're acting funny." She spins me round to look at her as opposed to her reflection. "You're not having second thoughts, are you?"

I shake my head; I don't know. I lift a shaking hand to remove the hair that had flown into my mouth from the head gesture away. Should I be worried that I can't actually remember who I'm getting married to? I probably should, shouldn't I?

My canary starts shouting from her cage across the room. Her usually melodic tone sounds screechy and painful to my ears.

"Melody, calm down!" I say, walking across to her.

She doesn't. She just keeps screeching and screeching. I'm considering throwing my hands over my ears before my eardrums burst, but, before I have chance to do so, Melody stops her 'singing'. In its place, I hear a loud 'thud'. She's fallen to her cage floor.

"Melody…" I say uncertainly, hoping she's alive with all my heart.

Macy let's our a sudden, horror-filled scream.

* * *

I sit bolt upright and look around. It wasn't Macy screaming; it was Betony.

I jump to my feet and snatch the backpack from the floor. I'm thinking straight enough that I remember to take my blowgun out of it _before_ I hurl it with full force at Pixie in an attempt to dislodge her grip on the Seam girl.

The girl from 1 with the braided blonde hair has Betony pinned up against a tree. My District partner has the monster's knife at her throat, pressing against the skin, and I'm certain that the slightest little movement will just hurt her further.

What kind of monster can hurt _Betony_, of all people?

My throwing of our backpack does nothing to deter Pixie. It bounces off her shoulder and lands on the floor, midway between us. I quickly load up my blowgun and start to raise it to my lips.

"Why, hello, Maysilee," Teases a voice from behind me. My hand freezes midway to my mouth, because there's only one person that voice could belong to.

"Veronica, darling," I say enthusiastically, like she's an old friend and we're both very girly girls. "How goes the day, my love?" I turn to face her, grinning in a way so forced, so _fake_, that it physically makes my face hurt.

She wrinkles her nose at me. "Ew! Love?"

"Figure of speech, dear, figure of speech." I assure her. "I hate you every bit as much as you hate me."

This elicits a smile from the girl with the sunshine-coloured hair. "Good to know."

Before I have chance to think, she's grabbed my blowgun hand. I try to prise her fingers off of it with the fingers of my left, but fail miserably. In the end I resort to using said free left hand to slap her round the face.

She glares at me and uses her own free hand to slap me back. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Billy leaning against a tree with an amused smirk on his face, watching as Veronica and I continue to slap each-other round the face.

"Interesting take on 'fight to the death', I must say." He says casually, though whether to us or to himself is anybody's guess.

After what I guess is a few minutes of me and Veronica slapping each-other round the face (taking it in turns- what the hell?!), I look over my shoulder at Betony. She's squeezed her eyes shut and she's muttering something- maybe some sort of prayer.

Veronica's hand collides with my right cheek as I turn my head back to face her. I don't hesitate to raise my left hand and slap her back.

"Vera!" Pixie shouts from over with Betony. "I need some help."

"Why," She slaps me. "Can't Billy do it? I'm sorta," I slap her. "Busy here."

I can almost hear the eye-roll in Pixie's voice, even if our backs are to each-other. "Unless you hit her really, _really_ hard, slapping 12 isn't going to kill her. Now, come here and hold Mini still."

I feel anger boil up inside me at the name for my District partner, but can't think of anything to do with aforementioned rage.

Veronica glares at me, but releases her grip on my blowgun wrist. As she walks toward Pixie, she slaps my face. I roll my eyes.

On Pixie's instruction, the girl from 4 holds the knife at Betony's throat whilst Pixie digs around in their backpack for some other sort of weapon. When she pulls out a heavy-looking metal baton, about the length of the distance between my wrist and elbow, I realise Pixie is planning to _bludgeon_ Betony to death.

My feet start working before it registers. It's only when I'm standing right next to the three girls that I realise it would probably have been a better idea to stand far away and blow darts at them. By blowpipe is still in my hand after all.

Pixie locks eyes with me and groans dramatically.

"Billy!" She shouts. "Sort her _out_!"

Billy pulls away from the tree with what he makes seem like a great deal of effort. "Do I get a weapon?"

"Well, duh." Veronica replies.

"Sweet!" Billy cheers as Pixie throws their backpack at him. I watch as he digs through it, pulls out some sort of silver dagger, and makes towards me. I quickly raise my pipe to my lips, but he catches my wrist before I have chance to spit my ammo at him. His eyes lock with mine. And I don't know if I'm imagining it, but I swear his head makes a small- but pointed- gesture to the left.

"I'm taking her away." Billy tells Veronica and Pixie. "So she can't try anything."

He starts to lead me away when I hear a tiny whimper that can only come from Betony. And I'm fighting against the grip on my wrist, struggling to raise the pipe to my lips again, trying with all my might to get back to the little girl with the wide grey eyes who's probably terrified out of her wits right now, with no-one to comfort her and tell her all those lies people always tell small children; "You're safe", "It'll be alright", etcetera, etcetera.

When we're a sizeable distance away, Billy drops my wrist. I'm about to raise the pipe to my mouth and knock him out of the Games when he raises a hand.

"Look, look, look," He says hurriedly. "You could kill me right now- and I honestly wouldn't blame you!- but please let me assure you that I mean you no harm."

I let out a sound that I think might be a snort. "You're holding a dagger."

"Just to up the authenticity." He smiles at me, but it seems forced, insincere. Like he realises this, he quickly rearranges his face, makes his expression neutral again. "I'm not _actually_ going to kill you."

"So you're going to stab me and let me bleed to death?" I hiss. "Or steal my supplies and let me starve?" My thought bounces back to my backpack, lying on the floor, witnessing whatever horrors those bitches are inflicting on helpless little Betony.

Damn, these are some messed up priorities I have here; I'm worrying about the effects of post-traumatic stress disorder on a _rucksack_!

Billy looks at me like I'm crazy. After that PTSD idea over my backpack, I really think he might actually have a point there. "No, silly, I'm letting you go."

I just stand there for a moment, like a complete and utter numpty, whilst this sinks in. "You… You _what_?"

Billy looks like he wants to smack his head against something. "I'm not gonna kill you, 12. Jeez, do I have to write it down for you?"

I'm tempted to say 'yes', but find myself saying the opposite.

We stand for a moment in silence, only broken by a shrill scream. Betony.

I try immediately to push past Billy, to get to her and do _something_, because it's so despicably, heart-wrenchingly hard to do absolutely nothing.

Billy catches my shoulder and holds it with what appears to be minimal effort. No matter how hard I try, I can't get any further than his arm's reach.

"There's nothing you can do." He tells me flatly.

Another scream populates the air and I get a sinking feeling in my stomach, like it's determined to fall down to the same level as my ankles or something. "I can try."

"Do you _want_ to get yourself killed?"

I stopped pulling against him. This seems to shock him a little, as his grip automatically loosens and I fall face-first to the floor. Sitting up, I spit the dirt out of my mouth and look up at him. He gives me a weak smile and holds out a hand, pulls me back up to my feet.

"Look, I know it's hard." He says gently. "As in, the hardest thing ever. But going back will just kill you too." He pauses for a moment. "Now, as weird as this might sound, can you punch me?"

"What?" I ask, confused.

"If I go back and say you put up a fight, so I lost you, but still look like my usual charming self," I scoff at this, and he smirks. "Then it'll be pretty obvious I let you go."

In answer to his request, I drop my blowgun to the floor. And then I'm balling my right fist, flinging it at his left shoulder. It collides with a jarring impact that shoots up my arm and makes my hand ache.

I pull it away and flex my fingers painfully. Damn it, that... Ow...

Billy reaches up and slaps himself round the face a few times, just to add to the beaten-up effect.

"Thanks." He says, trying a smile.

I'm about to smile back, but a cannon sounds. From the cheers of joy not all that far away, there's no mistaking who's it was.

"I didn't get to say goodbye." I grip Billy's shoulders tighter than I thought possible, trying to hammer my point across. "Are you going back there?"

He nods, studying me carefully.

"Please say goodbye to her. _Please_?"

Rather than call me crazy- she _is_ dead, after all- or refuse to do something so weird point-blank. He just locks his eyes on mine. "If you let go, I should be able to beat the hovercraft."

I release my grip and he sprints back the way we came. I can only hope he gets there in time so say goodbye to the little girl, from me.

I don't cry as I pick my blowgun up and set off into the forest. I don't cry as a parachute flits down to where I'm sitting that afternoon, bearing a loaf of warm, fresh bread and a note that simply says _"I'm sorry- W."_

I manage to keep myself composed as her picture flashes in the sky that night, no matter how hard it might be.

It isn't until the next morning, when Billy appears in front of me, sweaty and breathless and holding my poor little backpack, that I finally break down in tears.

It surprises him to no end. I think he was expecting to find me, throw the backpack in my general direction, and run back to the Career camp before anyone cottons on. But instead he hands the backpack to me and doesn't even raise and eyebrow as I cuddle it close. It's all that remains of our alliance now. Me, and this poor little backpack.

"I said goodbye." He tells me gently, running away again immediately after. I sniffle and hug the back tighter, trying not to think of the horrors it must've seen.

* * *

It's curled up against the trunk of the tree, hugging the rucksack and sniffling every so often, that I hear someone shouting, someone else screaming. A cannon sounds.

And I shouldn't panic. I should just stay here, where it's relatively safe rather than dashing into the fray.

Only that was Haymitch's voice. That was his shouting. And I can't sit here and do nothing. Not again.

* * *

**I'm not surprised if you all hate me right now. Honestly, I don't think I blame you. But, I mean, it had to happen at some point, right?**

**Plus, we got to see Billy :D! He is a fun, fun character to write. Maybe that redeems it a teeny, tiny bit?**


	26. Nodding Numbly

**A lot of people seem to be a little confused about what exactly happens here. I've put summary at the bottom of the page :). Anyone reading this chapter for the first time, do _not_ skip to the bottom of the page- there will be _major_ spoilers for this chapter!**

* * *

I load up my blowgun with a poisoned dart of some form or another (it's either the water or the bee-killing flowers; one of those two) and set it beside me. Bag zipped up, I sling one of the small straps over my shoulder and rub my eyes. _No_ crying.

Grabbing the blowgun, I stand up and make for the fight. It isn't very hard; I've heard several various swear words being bellowed on Haymitch's part, and several more screeching back in a voice I swear is Veronica's.

Maybe this isn't such a good idea.

No, Maysilee, you have to do this. Come on.

Damn it, now I'm talking to myself. I'm officially loosing it.

I practically tiptoe through the forest, hoping furiously that I won't be heard. Just because I can trust the Seam boy from my District (I _think_) doesn't mean the others in this fight won't try and kill me. There's Veronica, after all, and she hates me.

I press myself against a tree trunk as I near the battle, hoping they won't be able to see me. Thank you, beef jerky and peanuts; I've certainly come closer to starving than ever before thanks to you two, and I'm therefore very skinny. That, combined with the fact that this is a pretty wide tree, means that the chances of me being seen are slimmer. They're there, but smaller than they could be. Never thought I'd be happy to be really hungry.

I don't let myself peer round the tree, however curious I might be. Doing that will definitely reveal my location, and I want to stay hidden as long as possible. Instead, I focus my hearing and try to decipher just who are fighting on the other side of this tree.

There's Haymitch; that much I'm certain of. Then there's Veronica (yay.) and some as-of-yet-unknown dead person (shudder). There's also someone who I swear to goodness is crying; possibly over the dead person?

"Guess who we found yesterday, 12." Veronica's voice teases.

"Why can't you just _tell_ me?" Haymitch retorts in a bored tone. I smile to myself; same old Haymitch, I see, er, hear.

"Because there's no fun in that." I can sense the smile in her voice. It takes all my strength, all my willpower, not to run out there and slap her. Or throw her against a tree. Not that I could pick Veronica up- she's taller than me and probably heavier- but that's not the point.

"Betony." Sniffs a third voice. I tense. No, no, _no_. "Haymitch, they found Betony."

Haymitch fires into a torrent of filthy, _filthy_ swear words that I suspect they're frantically bleeping out in the Gamemakers' HQ. If Capitol citizens are so fussed about manners as the rumours say… Women will be fainting. Babies will be crying. Probably.

"How sick-minded can you be?" He says, disgusted. "She was twelve. _Twelve_."

"My mist-hey!" Veronica says mid-word. I notice the branches of the tree above me shake a little as something thuds into the other side. Squeezing my eyes shut, I press my face into the bark and pray they don't see me, hope they don't walk around this tree's thick trunk.

"Maybe we can talk this through." Veronica says, her voice hoarse and very close. She must be the other side of the tree trunk.

"Did you talk it through with Betony?" I hear Haymitch hiss back.

"Well…"

"Answer me!"

"No…"

"Well, then," He huffs.

"Haymitch…" Cuts in the third voice, which I recognise but refuse to connect with the boy I knew. The boy I knew wouldn't defend Veronica like this; especially when she killed sweet little Betony less than twenty-four hours ago.

"Bye." I catch Haymitch growl.

"No, no, no, no…" Veronica's voice trails off, replaced by a strange gurgling noise. I think I might be sick. Squeezing my eyes shut tighter, I try to push my head further against the tree trunk. I don't actually think it's possible; as it is, I'm fairly sure I'm going to have an imprint of the bark's pattern when I pull away. But I can try.

Veronica's cannon sounds a few seconds later.

"Oops," Haymitch says casually, mimicking her words from before. "My mistake."

There's a moment of silence. I open one eye and spot Veronica's hand, visible from this side of the tree. Her grip on the handle of her knife is limp, her arm stretched out in a position that looks far from comfy. I hurriedly close my eye again and try to force the image from my mind.

"There's no way I'm going back to Pixie with nothing to show for it." Hisses he-who-I-refuse-to-acknowledge.

"You're going to have to-" There's the crumple of leaves, and I hear something being dragged through the tree debris. "_Woah_, you're fast."

"I'll bet you're wishing you hadn't left Vera's knife with her, aren't you?" That's not him. It can't be. He wouldn't say that, couldn't say that, wouldn't even be _doing_ this. "I mean, you forced her hand back so that she effectively slit her own neck." There's a brief pause. "Let's see what that was like for her, shall we?"

As stupid an idea as my brain says it is, I can't bare the suspense any longer. I open my eyes and peer round the tree. Haymitch is pinned against one a little further away, He-who-should-not-be-acknowledged has him wedged pretty tightly against it, a knife in one hand. He's attempting to press it into Haymitch's, but the Seam boy's still putting up a fight. He-who-shall-not-be-acknowledged has his back to me.

My eyes flit to the two bodies on the floor; Veronica and Clair. The latter still has the hilt of the knife that killed her protruding from her stomach. I look away before I throw up, already able to taste the bile in my mouth.

_He _succeeds in pressing the handle of the knife between Haymitch's fingers and starts to raise it. My mind jumps back to Pixie holding Betony against the tree, to the way I did nothing, and everything that cost.

I can't just stand here again.

Before it's fully registered, my shaking hand raises the blowgun to my lips. I take a deep breath and force it out through the pipe, crossing the fingers of my free hand in the hopes that it hits. Otherwise, I've just betrayed my location to him.

He has enough life left in him to turn and face me.

"Maysilee?" He says in disbelief, falling to the floor seconds later. The cannon thunders in the heavens above.

Haymitch tosses the knife to the side and proceeds to check himself over for lasting injuries. I don't pay him much attention.

I'm numbly aware that I drop my bag and crawl over to the boy's corpse, stare into the lifeless blue eyes. He looks so much more like the Baxter I knew when he isn't threatening people. I feel immensely guilty.

Gently, I close his eyelids, though my hands are trembling furiously. As I stand, I notice Haymitch's eyes on me. He hasn't tried to kill me. My heart seems to stop for a moment as I realise that he might be the only person left that would hesitate to kill me. There's Billy, but you can bet he'll be sticking to Pixie like glue so…

I look back down at Baxter and bite my bottom lip. No crying, least of all in front of _Haymitch_. Think of all the teasing rights he'd get, Mays. Pull yourself together! And stop talking to yourself!

"We'd live longer with the two of us." I say eventually, not sure if I'm referring to me-and-Haymitch or me-and-Baxter.

"Guess you just proved that." Haymitch agrees, rubbing his neck nervously. "Allies?"

I nod, and somehow manage to prevent myself from running over and throwing my arms round his neck. I'm not alone, I'm not alone, I have someone I trust!

He nods towards my bag, still lying on the floor, and I scurry towards it, pick it up and clutch the small strap in my hand. It takes a moment, but I eventually find my blowgun lying in the leaf debris, its surface silver and shining.

I stuff it in the backpack before I do something I'll regret later, when I need it. That _thing_ helped me kill Baxter. It wouldn't do to break it or throw it somewhere I'll never find it, and the urge to do something along those lines to it is overwhelming right now.

"Let's go." Haymitch says, scanning the forest for potential attackers as he does so. I _think_ that's what he's looking for, anyway. "The hovercraft won't come until we're out of the way."

I nod again. You know, some point soon I will actually respond to something he says with words of some sort.

We head off, not looking back at the three corpses. And I don't cry. I'd be surprised if there are any tears left after all the sobbing I did this morning.

* * *

**Okay, brief step-by-step summary:**

**1. The cannon that went off at the end of last chapter was Clair's.**

**2. This is the part in CF Katniss refers to; the three Careers attack Haymitch. He takes down two, but the third disarms him and is about to kill him when Mays intervenes.**

**3. When Maysilee's hiding behind the tree, Haymitch is fighting Veronica. He pins her up against the other side of the tree to Maysilee, unaware that she's there, and forces the knife in her hand up to slit her own throat.**

**4. Veronica dies then, of course.**

**5. The person Maysilee thinks she heard crying when she first arrived was Baxter.**

**6. He doesn't want to go back to Pixie alone with nothing to show for it (plus he had a small thing going with Clair, so he's very upset that Haymitch just killed her)**

**7. Maysilee kills Baxter to save Haymitch.**

**8. Pixie and Billy are both alive and elsewhere; they're all that remains of the Career pack.**

**If you have any more questions, don't hesitate to ask!**


	27. Out For The Count

**A fairly light-hearted chapter, given the last two. No-one else dies in this one, at any rate.**

* * *

It takes a while to fully sink in. I killed Baxter. And he might not have been _acting_ like Baxter, but he sure _looked_ like him. Besides, he seemed so vulnerable just lying there, eyes closed.

Haymitch walks ahead of me, knowing that I'll follow. He hasn't bothered to ask if I'm okay which I'm, weirdly enough, thankful for. We both know what a ridiculous question _that_ would be, given the circumstances, and I really don't feel like delving into a pointless conversation. No, I'll just stare at my feet, glancing up every so often to make sure I'm not going to crash into anything. And that Haymitch is still there. After Betony, I don't want to risk losing him too.

After perhaps half an hour of walking, he stops suddenly and I almost walk into him. Any other day, I think I would've swirled off into an array of curse words. But not today. I don't have the energy, the will-power.

He looks at me sternly, in a way that reminds me of Wilhelm in his sensible moments. The likeness is uncanny. "You need to snap out of this."

"If I knew how to, I would." I find my voice saying before my brain has even had chance to register the question. "It was _Baxter_, Haymitch."

"I know." He confirms in a slightly friendlier tone. Only slightly, mind. "I was there. You can't let it get to you."

"It doesn't look like I have much of a choice."

He pauses for a moment, furrows his brow as he thinks something through. "You're pretty much out for the count, then." He says eventually. "I'm going to keep walking. I've killed three people now, and I regret it, but I'm still in this to win it. If you are too, you'll _know_ what to do."

He runs off into the forest. No amount of calling his name can bring him back, turn him round again. I stop shouting the second I realise that doing so will draw attention to myself; Pixie and Billy won't be too happy about the incident which resulted in the deaths of the rest of their pack. Best case scenario; they're too shocked and afraid to do anything. Worst case scenario; they're out for revenge.

I stand for a moment, pondering what Haymitch said, trying to decipher whether or not I'm supposed to go after him. Am I 'out for the count'? It certainly feels like it. I want to go home. More than anything, in the whole of Panem, I want to go home. I feel like I'd trade anything, _do_ anything, if it meant I could get back to Macy, Mum and Dad safely. Which is, I suppose, what the Hunger Games are all about. I feel sick now. This is a truly horrifying concept.

But, more importantly than all that, I feel more like my old self than I have all day. There's still that ache that lingers in the back of my mind, reminding me that I alone am the one to blame for Baxter's death- and I doubt that'll ever go- but I feel like I can do this. I don't want to sit under a tree and cry my eyes out, which is all I felt I could do just ten minutes ago.

I ponder Haymitch's words again. 'You'll _know_ what to do', he said. Only I don't. Maybe I should go find him, just to see.

Dashing in the direction he headed, I quickly catch up with him. He's sitting on a fallen log, that familiar smirk on his face.

"I've been expecting you, Miss Donner." He says. I'd call it a joke, was his tone not so serious.

"What am I supposed to do?" I struggle out, gulping down air every few words; I might not have run far, but I'm tired. I think that's what must be making me so easily out of breath. I'm going to blame that. "You said I'd know."

"And you do." He hops off of the log and takes my backpack off of my shoulder. I reach out to snatch it back, but he holds it above my head. "I mean, you came after me, didn't you? If you were _really_ out for the count, you wouldn't have done that."

"You seem rather certain about that." I jump and lunge for the bag, my fingertips just brushing the straps. I let out a huff of annoyance.

He snickers. "That's because I am."

He turns and sets the backpack down on the log and goes through it, looking over my belongings with a sense of curiosity, weighing up the pros and cons of his new 'toys'. I notice that he makes certain to shove the blowpipe back into the bag the second he pulls it out, like he's certain it'll send me spiralling back into broken Maysilee mode. Not sure whether to be grateful or annoyed about that.

"We have this packet of dried beef." He holds up the plastic bag containing the beef jerky. "And I bowl." He takes it out and examines it. "It's a little wet."

"It's been holding water, that's why." I explain, adding quickly, "Rain water. Not water from the river."

"Or the lake." He adds. "That's poisoned too."

"The river water turns you purple." I remember, images of Laura's disfigured corpse, Caroline's horrified expression, flashing through my mind before I can stop them. "It shuts off your body, bit by bit."

"This is just disgusting." He mutters, tossing the beef jerky and the bowl into the backpack and pulling the zip across. "Do you want to carry this, or should I?"

"I'll do it." I hold out a hand. He throws it to me, and I reach up to catch it.

Rather than throw one tiny strap over a shoulder, like I usually do, I choose to cradle the backpack close, like a small child. For some reason, it seems to give me a strange sort of comfort, and I'm going to take any source of that I can right now.

* * *

By the time sunset comes around, we've set up a temporary camp. Haymitch lit a fire, despite my protesting. He's adamant that the Careers won't be out hunting tonight, bearing in mind the dealings of today, and that the other tributes won't be suicidal enough to come near. _Not yet_, is what he meant to say. The words might not have come out, but they were evident in his expression.

"Besides," He said as he arranged the stones in a circle. "You're shivering."

"I am _not_." I lie, trying my hardest to keep my teeth from chattering as I wrap my arms around myself. The backpack sits beside me, silently watching, as always.

"Liar." He retorts as the fire sparks to life. Tossing the pieces of flint he used to light it to the side, Haymitch rubs his hands together, holds them in front of the flame in an attempt to warm them.

The Capitol anthem plays. I force myself to look upwards as first Clair, then Veronica, then Baxter grace the sky with their faces. My hand reaches out for the backpack's strap and I squeeze the life out of it, so hard that I can feel my nails in the palm of my hand through the strap's fabric. The Capitol anthem plays again, their insignia flashes, and then the sky returns to its previous state of twilight.

"You okay?" Haymitch asks, eyes fixed on the fire.

"Yeah." I'm trying to convince myself as much as I am him.

He looks over, opens his mouth to say something, but he's interrupted by a loud clap of thunder. I almost leap out of my skin. It doesn't take long for me to realise what's happening though. Using my grip on the backpack, I pull it into my lap and unzip it, reaching inside and grabbing the bowl. Whilst Haymitch fusses over the fact that the sudden storm has doused his fire, I hold the bowl out, filling it with water. It's only half full when I bring it to my lips. I hadn't realised just how _thirsty_ I was!

I hold the bowl out for a while longer, nudging Haymitch (he's still crouching beside the remains of our fire) with my foot and handing him the bowl. He drinks from it too, holds it above my head afterwards to catch rainwater faster than I could.

As we stand there, joking and laughing and getting so sopping drenched, I can't help but wonder if maybe the Gamemakers planned this. Maybe they wanted to make us smile, just this once. And maybe, just maybe, they aren't that bad after all.

That thought disappears almost as quickly as it began.


	28. Listening

I'm awoken by a sudden bright light. Squinting, I sit up and smack my head on something hard.

"Ow." I grumble, raising my hand up to rub my head. That _hurt_!

It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the sunlight. Once they do, I realise that the reason for the brightness is Haymitch; he has removed the roof of the lean-to from above me.

"What was that for?" I complain as I stand up.

He glances up from where he's now sitting, packing the empty bowl back into the orange backpack. "You have a twig in your hair."

"What does that have to anything?" I snap, though I reach a hand up to the bird's nest that is my hair. Indeed, there is a twig. I raise my other hand and start to work it out of the tangled mess.

Haymitch smirks and goes back to zipping up the tiny backpack. "_You're_ still a joy to be around in the mornings, I see."

I roll my eyes as I toss the now-free twig down onto the floor by my feet. "I'm not much of a morning person. Big deal."

"Catch!" He stands up and throws the orange rucksack at me. I just about manage to figure out what's going on in time to catch it before it collides with my face. I glare at him. Aside from a slight twinkle to his eyes, you wouldn't think he'd noticed my less than happy expression. "We need to get going."

"Why?" I ask, but he's already set off.

I have to run to catch up with him (he's a fast walker, isn't he?), slowing so that my pace matches his once I'm by his side.

"Hello? Earth to Haymitch?" I tease. A horrible thought works its way into my head. "You don't think Pixie's nearby, do you?"

"Undoubtedly."

I manage to suppress the squeal of terror. Annoyingly, it lodges in my throat instead of just disappearing and I'm forced to swallow it back down again.

"That's not why we're moving though." He clarifies.

Relief sweeps over me. For just a moment, mind. And then my brain tries to figure out what else, exactly, could be the reason for our walking.

We keep walking in silence, safe for the snap of twigs and the crunch of leaves beneath our feet. It's not like we have much experience walking through forests with the stealth of a ninja.

The forest back home in District 12 is, by law, off limits, and the Peacekeepers are _very_ strict with that rule. The fence is electrified, and anyone so much as _suspected_ of scheming to get over it is trialled- sometimes even whipped at the post in town. Those poor souls are usually whisked off to the Pottingers' apothecary as soon as the Peacekeepers are out of sight by at _least_ one person watching the spectacle in the crowd. I've chanced to be sitting on the counter there when they've arrived before now, and it's not a pretty sight. How Anise can deal with so much blood is a mystery to me.

Anyway, all that's besides the point. Which was, by the way, that we can't be expected to walk silently through the woods when, before the Games, we'd never actually set foot in a forest.

Eventually, my brain grows tired of not knowing our reason for pressing on.

"You must have a reason for pressing on like this." I try to compose my thoughts as I voice them. "What, exactly, is it?"

"You'll figure it out soon enough." Haymitch replies in a roundabout way. It's definitely very frustrating.

"You seem pretty sure about that." I mutter, threading my left arm through one of the rucksack's straps and holding it like some kind of rubbish handbag; the sort that are about the size of your hand and must be bigger on the inside, because I swear there's no way anybody could fit all of their belongings inside it. Unless they're Thumbelina.

"You're a bright girl." Is all he says in response.

Damn it! He's so infuriating!

* * *

When we stop for the night, I _still_ haven't figured out why, exactly, Haymitch is so adamant that we walk all day. All I know for sure is that my feet hurt. Sitting down with my back against a tree trunk, legs stretched out straight in front of me, feels like a godsend.

Mmmm… I can feel my feet… This is utter bliss.

"I'll take the first watch." Haymitch offers, though I barely hear him. My eyes are already drifting shut, and I'm far too tired to refuse them that one little luxury.

* * *

Haymitch shakes me awake all too soon, tells me it's my turn to keep watch. I nod and stand up, moving closer to the smouldering ashes of what was, hours ago, a fire.

I'm holding my hands in the still-warm air around the ashes when I hear someone scream. A cannon crashes. Panicking, my eyes dart over to Haymitch. He opens one eye lazily.

"Cannon." I whisper by way of explanation for the loud noise.

He nods once and opens the other eye, raising a finger to his lips in a gesture I'm clever enough to realise means 'stay quiet'.

"You…!" Someone shouts angrily. I don't recognise their voice. They seem at a loss for words. "You… You _murderers_!"

"Ding dong." An agonisingly familiar voice trills. "Point one for 11."

I look back at Haymitch. "Pixie." I whisper.

He raises the index finger of his right hand up to his lips again, but the gesture seems like more of an automatic reaction to my voice as his expression is one of deep thought. It doesn't match the 'be quiet' gesture at all.

"Oi! Tall-y!" Yet another familiar voice enters the conversation. It takes a moment for me to place it as that if the bizarre girl from 8 with the mace... Maisy, was it? She must be referring to the boy from 11 as 'tall'; Pixie certainly isn't. "Fight the woman!"

"Billy!" Pixie's voice commands. "Fight 8 for me; I'll handle 11."

"On it." The last remaining District 4 tribute assures her.

There's a loud clash of what I can only assume are weapons as a fight breaks out.

They battle on for what feels like an eternity. It completely terrifies me, as I know they can't be too far away, yet I can't bring myself to stop my ears from tuning into the sound. Eventually, a cannon thunders. As the ringing in my ears subsides, I hear footsteps dashing away from the fray, away from us.

"You coward!" Maisy bellows. "Get back here and fight like a man!"

"Woman." The boy from 11 corrects. "She's a woman."

"I knew that."

Maisy's alive. The boy from 11 is alive. A girl just ran away from them. She must be Pixie… Which means the cannon…

"Goodbye." I whisper, casting my eyes down to the still smouldering ashes. I hope he catches it before the hovercraft reaches him.


	29. Man-eating Squirrels

**We hit 9 reviews for last chapter! _Nine_! I'm still in shock here!**

**I haven't had chance to reply to every single review, like I usually do. But I promise that every single one hasn't failed to make me grin like a maniac. Thank you all :).**

* * *

We alternate watching and sleeping throughout the night. As the sun rises, I find that I'm the one on watch. Haymitch is curled up in a little ball in front of the tree, one arm threaded protectively through the backpack's straps. I wonder if he realises he's doing it.

It's actually kind of sweet. Not that I'm about to tell him that. That'd be _creepy_.

Out of the blue, I have a rather devious little plan. It's nothing compared to what he did yesterday i.e. removing the roof from above my head, so I think I'm the good person here still. Even I _did_ kill Baxter.

I shake my head to dislodge _that_ thought from it before it takes me down a path I'll regret ever walking down.

With a sly smirk, I pick up a handful of leaf debris from the floor. On tiptoe, I creep up to Haymitch. I'm not silent, by any means- I'd never stepped into a forest before the Games, remember? I try to kid myself that I'm giving him plenty of chance to wake up before I reach him, here. Still, the sleeping Seam boy doesn't shift. Perfect.

Slowly, slowly, I lower myself down into a kneeling position and inch my hands, which are cradling the broken leaves and twigs carefully, towards him. He doesn't stir.

Quickly, before I lose my chance, I pull my hands apart and rub the leaves into his dark hair. Before he can fully analyse the situation, I stand up and dash a few steps backwards.

Spitting out a few of the pieces of leaf that got into his mouth, Haymitch sits up. He tosses the backpack away with disgust (which is sad; they looked so _cute_ together!) and looks around, confused, for just a second.

Cautiously, almost like he's scared of what he'll find, he raises a hand to his hair. It comes away with a twig between its fingers. From the look on his face, he knows that's not all there is to it. He glares at me.

"You have a twig in your hair." I echo his first words to me from yesterday morning. However, unlike him, I can't say it with a straight face. The last word has barely left my mouth before I burst out laughing.

"Oh, you think that's funny, do you?" He grumbles, standing up and running his hands through his hair in an attempt to dislodge all the forest debris. Haymitch Abernathy, it seems, can be _quite_ the diva when he wants to be.

"Maybe slightly." I manage to force out.

He stoops, picks up a handful of leaves, and throws them at me. I bat most of them away before they hit me in the face, but I feel one or two land in my hair. I reach up to pick them out, my fingers brushing the Alice-band plait just briefly. Rosalia must be watching now; the viewing is mandatory, after all. What was it she said to do? 'Run the hell out of there', I think. Well, I did, and I'm still here. I guess I owe her one.

"Haymitch." I growl as I toss the leaves from my hair to the floor. "You're going to regret that."

"Really?" And, there's the smirk. I was worried for a minute there; he can't usually go so long without it.

"Really." I confirm, lowering myself to scoop up a handful of leaves as I speak. I stand and throw aforementioned handful at Haymitch.

It erupts into a full-blown leaf fight pretty quickly. I realise with a smile that this certainly isn't the kind of 'battle' the Gamemakers had in mind when designing the Arena. After five minutes, we're both covered in leaves. Haymitch has them protruding from various angles in his curly dark hair, and I'll bet that I have my own fair share too.

"You have a-" I begin.

"Twig in my hair?" Haymitch interrupts before I can finish. "Yeah, I noticed. You too, while we're on the subject of twigs in hair."

"You're _too_ kind." I retort sarcastically. "Honestly, Mr. Abernathy, what _would_ I do without you?"

"I've got no idea." He smirks. "We should get moving."

* * *

We keep walking most of the morning, the leaf fight nothing but a memory I'm not sure I can trust. Haymitch seems so _serious_; a completely different person to the one that was rubbing leaves into my hair not four hours ago.

I'm pondering this when he stops suddenly. Unfortunately, I don't notice this and walk into his back. He looks over his shoulder and raises an eyebrow. To which my response is to roll my eyes and act casual. It's _totally_ normal to walk into peoples' backs. Especially when they, I don't know, _stop _right in your way!

I open my mouth to speak, but his hand clamps over it pretty quickly. I narrow my eyes in as intimidating a glare I can manage, but his hand remains put. He looks around, listening intently. It reminds me a little of a wild deer; cautious, observant, ready to fight or to flee at any given moment.

I've only seen a deer once; a _live_ deer, at any rate. There are some, uh, _illegal_ Seam poachers who I've seen making their way to the Hob before now with _dead_ deer slung over their shoulders. Normally on the days when the Peacekeepers are occupied with... Things... Usually whippings, I must say. Anyway, the _live_ deer got under the fence and into the meadow somehow when I was twelve. It scratched itself up a little- the fence isn't exactly smooth. Anise tried her best to clean it up, even named it 'Bambi' after some bedtime story her dad used to tell her. When the Peacekeepers came along and said they had to kill it 'in case it was dangerous' (Worst. Excuse. Ever.), she burst into tears.

It's then that I hear what Haymitch must've sensed coming (He must have heard scratching or something.); a scream. It rings my ears so much that I fear I might get a headache. What can cause a scream like _that_?

A boy runs out in front of us, hunched over. I feel the muscle in Haymitch's arm twitch, like he's debating whether or not to make a move. He chooses not to and we stay put, watching.

I recognise him… He was that boy who tried to persuade Laura not to drink from the river on Day 1. The other girl… Caroline, I think? Well, she's not with him. She must've died, and this boy's not been fortunate enough to find another alliance. He truly _is_ alone. If I'd been left alone after Betony, I don't think I'd have been able to cope much longer.

He looks up at us and I feel my stomach lurch. Deep, bloody scratches criss-cross his face. Some, indeed, look small and fairly unnoticeable. Others… I think I can see a bit of bone on the right of his face.

"What happened?" Haymitch asks. I would ask a similar question myself, but he still has his hand clamped over my mouth. "Who did this?"

"S… S…" The boy struggles to get out. "Squirrels."

"Squirrels?" Haymitch repeats, puzzled.

I can't say I blame him; squirrels are cute and fluffy. It isn't until I remember the scary-looking squirrels, the ones that bare their teeth and growl at you, that I realise what might be going on here.

I drop the backpack to the floor by my feet and use both hands to wrestle Haymitch's hand away from my mouth.

"Don't be too loud, you." He scolds. "We don't want people to find us."

"I know the squirrels he might mean!" I explain quickly. "They growl and bare their teeth."

Haymitch opens his mouth (probably to counter that with something witty), but the other boy gets there first.

"That's them. There was one, and I ignored it. Same when a second showed up, and a third. Before I realised I was in danger, there was at least a dozen of them."

"How did you escape?" I ask curiously.

"I ran." He glances over his shoulder hastily. "But they're coming."

As if on cue, a fluffy golden squirrel bounces out from the bushes that the boy had just dashed through. It would be adorable, did it not have teeth and claws stained with human blood.

A second squirrel jumps out and stands beside it.

"Run." The boy warns, adding far more hastily, "Quick, run!"

"What about you?" I ask, already stooping to grab the backpack from the floor.

"Just _run_!" He shouts as a third and fourth squirrel join their fellows.

I grab Haymitch's arm and run as fast as I can. It doesn't take long for him to co-operate, running alongside me. He's not as fast as me, but he's not exactly slow either.

We're not very far when I hear that familiar crazed growling; the squirrels are readying to attack. I hope that guy got away.

Actually… I'm not sure I am… One less person, right?

I feel like a monster.

BANG!

The cannon interrupts my train of thought, and I subconsciously slow. Haymitch uses my grip on his arm to jerk me forwards a little, reminding me just what sort of situation we're in. I sprint past him, dragging him along a little.

* * *

When we finally stop running, he isn't very happy. In fact, he seems pretty angry. I've since released his arm, and taken a few decent sized steps away from him. This way, I can watch in relative safety whilst he kicks leaves in the air and grumbles swear words.

"What _is_ the matter with you?" I ask eventually.

He looks a little shocked for a moment, like he forgot I'm here. He probably did. Idiot. "We must've come at least half a mile back."

"So?"

"What do you mean _so_?" He kicks another cluster of leaves into the air, ignoring it when one or two settle in his hair.

"Precisely that." I insist. It takes a moment for it to click into place. "Wait… This about your whole," I adopt a low voice which is, undeniably, not Haymitch's. At all. "We need to keep moving," Normal voice. "Thing, isn't it?"

"Great." Haymitch comments sarcastically. "You could be a detective, Maysilee."

"Haymitch!" I all but yell; don't want to draw Pixie to us, do I? "Will you _please_ snap out of it?"

"You had a whole day of depression. Don't see how I'm any different to you."

"You haven't just killed your babysitter!" I actually shout. The birds in the trees above us flee at the sudden outburst, shaking the branches above us and showering a cascade of leaves over us.

I turn to the tree behind me and rest my head against it. This conversation is going nowhere, and I need to calm down before I do something I'll regret i.e. attack Haymitch. He'd win, no contest.

"Hey, Mays," He says from behind me in a far more gentle way than the sarcastic grumbling from a few seconds ago.

I refrain from rolling my eyes. Instead, I squeeze them shut. "_What_?"

"Feel like splitting that beef jerky for dinner? I'm hungry."

Opening my eyes, I turn to face him. My fingers are still loosely gripping the rucksack's handle.

He smiles brightly. Honestly, his whole face lights up.

I throw the backpack at him. "Knock yourself out."

He sits with his back against the tree, rucksack in his lap, and pats the space next to him. I trudge over, still pretending to be angry when really we both know I'm just stubborn, and sit down beside him.

Beef jerky for dinner. My mother would kill me.


	30. Final Five

**Thirty chapters. Woah. As you'll probably figure out from this chapter (if you haven't already!), there won't be much of this story left. But there will be that sequel I mentioned a while back :)**

* * *

When I wake up the next morning, it isn't to a happy little leaf fight. Rather, it's to a sleepy-looking Haymitch who seems anxious we get moving, to make up for the ground lost yesterday. He didn't get much sleep last night. There was his watch, of course, which took up the latter half of the night. And then, even throughout _my_ watch, he seemed to be having some sort of nightmare. He kept rolling round, mumbling, swatting at things visible only to him. Yet, despite the bags beneath his eyes and the evident sleepiness in his limbs, he insists we move on.

I still haven't figured out why this is so important to him.

Still, I'm too tired myself for an argument. I hook one of the backpack's tiny straps over my shoulder and follow Haymitch. Keeping quiet, too, safe for the crunch of leaves beneath my feet. He's thinking about something, and I've learnt that, when Haymitch Abernathy is deep in thought, you leave him be.

At noon, that plan falls out the metaphorical window. There aren't windows in the Arena. There was one back home, though, at the front of the sweet shop. Mum used to get me and Macy to decorate it every couple of weeks, taking down the old, stale sweets and replacing them with fresh ones. She had to confiscate the stapler on more than one occasion. And the cello tape. I might've… Tried to tape my sister to the counter when we were little. She was annoying me!

Right, off topic. At midday, I decide to say something.

Haymitch is still deep in thought, but his shoulders are slumped and his footsteps are slowing. He's _really_ tired, not just a little.

"Maybe we should rest?" I suggest.

He stops and turns round to face me, raising an eyebrow. "We can't."

"Why not?" I press. "You're sleepy. Throughout most of my watch, you seemed like you were having some sort of nightmare. You must be completely whacked!"

He shakes his head. "That doesn't matter. We have to keep walking."

"But _why_?" It just doesn't make sense to me! If you're sleepy, you should rest, right? Maybe this is how Betony felt when I kept stealing her watches as well as my own.

Haymitch doesn't answer, just turns away from me and continues to trudge off. I have no choice but to follow. It seems like this is happening a lot.

* * *

Mid-afternoon and, I hadn't thought it possible, but Haymitch looks even _more_ tired than before.

"This is ridiculous!" I inform him bluntly. "Whatever you're hoping we find, it can't _possibly_ be worth all this walking! You need to sleep."

"No, I don't." He replies stubbornly.

"Well, every other member of the human species does." I insist. "What makes _you_ so special?"

He looks over his shoulder and grins. "I'm Haymitch Abernathy."

I roll my eyes. "Which translates as 'ego the size of Panem'."

"Oh, bigger than Panem, Mays." He retorts sarcastically. "More like-"

BANG!

He's interrupted by a cannon. I stop walking, reach out and grab his right shoulder, pulling him to a halt too.

"Final five." He whispers without turning round. I'm not sure if he's talking to me or himself.

He starts walking, but I use my grip on his shoulder to pull him back again. He looks over his left and shoots me a quizzical look.

"We're not going _anywhere_ until you tell me your 'little plan'." I state. "There's two of us in this alliance, and we can't afford to keep secrets like this if we're planning to send one of us home." I avoid voicing the underlying fact that one of us will have to die for that to be possible, and that if this alliance isn't dissolved, one of us will have to kill the other. The implication is clear enough.

Haymitch doesn't answer, just stares at me sleepily and suppresses a yawn. Damn it! If he thinks I'm letting him take the first watch tonight, he can think again!

"Why do we keep moving forwards?" I say, using the sort of voice I hear Anise using with small children, who visit the apothecary with their parents. Usually with sick elder siblings, and usually Merchants' kids. Seam folk can't afford half the things we can, apothecary included.

"Because it has the end _somewhere_, right?" He replies. My confusion must be evident on my face, because he decides to elaborate. "The Arena can't go on forever."

"What do you expect to find?" I press, imagining a brick wall with a painted butter-yellow door embedded in its stonework, only opened from the outside. The thought almost makes me laugh out loud.

"I don't know." I highly doubt his answer, but we're on live TV here, and it's clearly something he'd rather the Gamemakers didn't realise he knew. "But maybe there's something we can use." He turns his head back to face the way he was heading, and I wordlessly remove my hand from his shoulder. And we set off again.

His answer was less than helpful, but better than nothing. I suppose I'll figure all this out when we get there.

* * *

Evening is just starting to fall when we're met with a familiar face. And, annoyingly, it's a face I'd happily never see again.

"Hello, 12." Pixie says with an eerie smile. "Final five, eh? Who'd have thought it."

"Move, 1." Haymitch practically growls. "We aren't looking for a fight."

"Oh, but the audiences are." She reaches up a hand to toss her side-braid back over her shoulder. It won't stay there for long- it'll just move round to the front of her shoulder first chance it gets- but I don't point this out. "I gave them a _fascinating_ one earlier; the girl from 8. She killed Billy, you see, and that was supposed to be _my_ job. We couldn't have her getting away with stealing _my_ job, could we?" She sounds like a psychopath, like she's telling little kids something in a really sarcastic way, knowing they're too young to pick up on it. And everything's accompanied by that horribly _sickening_ smile.

"Well, then, find someone who actually _wants_ to fight for this battle, then." Haymitch suggests bluntly, moving to push past her. She raises her right hand, which is clutching the handle of the very same axe that murdered Jon way back when, and blocks his path. They have a bit of a glaring contest.

"Pixie," I say, drawing the attention away from my District partner and onto me. "There are two of us, and only one of you. It doesn't exactly seem fair."

"I'll manage." She assures me. "I'm a better fighter than the two of you put together, after- oof!"

Haymitch, noticing that her attention is on me, seizes his chance and rams into her side with all his weight. Pixie isn't exactly tall or heavy, whereas Haymitch is, and so falls to the ground. With a nod of his head in the direction he intends to head, Haymitch sets off. I scamper round Pixie and catch up to him, grabbing his wrist and running. Taking us away from Pixie before she gets up. Because you can be certain that she isn't happy with all the leaves in her dirty blonde hair, and she'll want revenge in some form or another.

Don't focus on that, Mays. Just run.


	31. I Remember

**Sorry I didn't update yesterday! I usually update every Saturday, but I've had so much homework that I haven't had chance!**

**There will be one more chapter after this one, and then an epilogue. I lot of people have been wondering how much is left :)**

**And, before the chapter starts, we went over 100 reviews last chapter! Never thought so many people would enjoy this story when I started it! Thank you all so, so much, and I hope you enjoy the final parts of this :D**

* * *

At sunset, Haymitch seems pretty reluctant to stop walking. He hasn't voiced it, but I can tell he's worried he won't make it to… Whatever it is he thinks he'll find at the edge of the Arena. There's only five of us left now, after all. It won't be long before they start pushing us into other alliances, or mutts, and expecting us to either fight or die.

"Haymitch." I say sternly. "Sleep. I'll take the first watch."

He folds his arms. "If you're tired, Mays, you should've said something."

"_I'm_ not tired!" I mimic his pose as best I can with the backpack hanging over one shoulder. "_You_ clearly are!"

"I'm not!" He insists, followed by a perfectly timed yawn. I raise an eyebrow at him and he rolls his eyes. "Maysilee, you're acting like my mother."

"I'll take the first watch." I continue. "And you go to sleep."

He glares at me. Admittedly, he doesn't try to walk off again, but, at the same time, he's still standing up rather than lying down and sleeping. I'm not sure whether or not this is progress.

"I'll wake you up after an hour or so for your shift." I insist, only aware of how whiny I sound after I've said it.

Still, whiny seems to work. Somewhat reluctantly, Haymitch sits down on the floor. I toss him the backpack to use as a pillow, and he lies down wordlessly, placing the backpack beneath his head. Taking a seat a little way away from him, I occupy myself with humming the tune to a song I often catch Mum singing as she works around the shop. _Caught_, I mean.

"Can you hum something a bit less… Skippy?" Haymitch groans, his voice muffled due to the fact that his face is pressed against the backpack.

"Why?" I retort. "It reminds me of home. Besides, _you're_ supposed to be sleeping."

"Maybe if you weren't humming my dad's favourite bar song, that'd happen a lot quicker." He grumbles.

I resist the urge to thwack him on the shoulder, instead pulling my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms round my legs. "It's supposed to be comforting, isn't it?"

He groans something I don't catch. I think it was literally just that- a groan- and roll my eyes. Still, I settle back against the tree and don't hum any more.

"Are you going to hum or not, Sweetheart?" Haymitch asks.

I groan in a way all too akin to his (Macy will be having a ball back home) and smack my head against my knees. "Make your mind up, Abernathy!"

"It's too quiet." He explains sleepily, his back still facing away from me and his face still buried in the 'pillow'. "I don't like it."

So I hum. Even after I know he's fallen asleep, I keep on humming, because it keeps me calm too, stops my mind from pondering things I'd rather it didn't. And, before I know it, I must've gone to sleep, because I can't hear myself humming anymore.

* * *

It's snowing, as it does most winters in District 12. I dash outside, stand outside our sweet shop with a smile on my face, ignoring the fact that my feet are bare and my teeth are chattering.

"Maysilee, wait!" My sister shouts, running out after me. She was sensible enough to put shoes and a coat on beforehand. Unlike me. Mind you, that's Macy for you, _ever_ the sensible one.

"Let's go get Anise!" I suggest, grabbing Macy's hand and running down the street.

Macy protests the first few minutes about how I'm wearing a short-sleeve dress, without shoes, and how this is ridiculous. Still, it doesn't take much longer for her to run with me. We slow to a jog, laughing and joking.

We reach the apothecary and push the door open. Anise and her father are tending to some sort of boy, stretched across the table, covered in blood.

Macy's hand releases mine and flies up over her mouth to try and stifle her gasp.

"What _happened_?" She chokes out.

Anise ignores her. She goes into 'the zone' whilst she's working, and it's almost impossible to pull her out from a world that contains only her, her patient, and occasionally any helpers. In this case, that would be her father.

I leave Macy standing agape by the door and slowly make my way over, despite my better judgement. This bloody, injured boy, little more than a corpse, really, looks familiar. Maybe it's the mop of dark, curly hair, or the fact that his lifeless eyes are such a confusing shade of gray. It isn't until I'm standing right beside the table that I realise why. It's Haymitch.

* * *

My head snaps up, my breathing heavy. The first thing I notice is that I'm wearing shoes, then, that I'm in a forest, and that my neck is stiff. And all the time I'm breathing so heavily it physically hurts.

Haymitch mutters something and sits up, groggily rubbing an eye. I stifle a scream, because you don't just sit up, without a scratch, when you've just spent the last few minutes lying blood-ridden on the Pottingner's table.

He quickly turns his attention to me and narrows his eyes, summing everything up about the situation. "Did you hear something? See something?"

I just shake my head. My mind has figured out that it must've been a dream, like that one in my wedding dress a few nights ago, but it's always hard to put the worst of a nightmare behind you in the minutes after waking.

"Did you have a nightmare?" He guesses. I nod and he rolls his eyes. "I said to wake me up when you were tired."

"I didn't even _realise_ I was tired." I snap. "I thought I was awake. It was snowing, and my feet were so cold, and you…"

"I…?" He prompts.

"I think you _died_." My answer is unsure, as the remnants of the dream slip away. "There was blood, and Anise, and… Oh God, I'm confused!"

Haymitch smiles and looks around. "Well, the sun's just rising. Let's get going." He jumps to his feet and picks up the backpack. I stumble to my feet and together we set off.

* * *

About lunchtime, we hit a hedge. Only, it's different to most hedges back home. This one is literally so thick that you can't see a trace of what's on the other side.

"Well, that looks like it must be it." I announce. "Let's head back." I turn to go, but Haymitch grabs my wrist.

"We don't give up _that_ easily, Maysilee." He shakes his head in mock-disapproval. "Come on, help me with this blowtorch."

"Since when have we had a _blowtorch_?" I ask, confused, but he's released my grip and, knowing Haymitch, not even heard my question.

"I took it from the Careers." He explains. Okay, maybe he _did_ hear my question. "And stashed it in the front pocket of the backpack."

"There's a front pocket?" I echo, bewildered.

He looks up and grins. He's balancing on one leg, using the knee of the other to support the backpack, whilst he unzips this mysterious front pocket and pulls out a blowtorch.

"You'd better know how to work that thing," I say warningly. "Because I have literally _no_ idea."

"Neither do I." He zips the bag back up and tosses it to me. "Let's experiment."

* * *

Haymitch Abernathy is terrifying when you hand him a blowtorch. He'd light a little bit of hedge, though the fire from the torch's nozzle didn't last too long. Rather than grow, like a fire should, it just fizzled out, taking any branches it had caught with it, crumbling them to ash. It takes a while, but eventually, we're through that crazily thick hedge. By this point, the sun is starting to set.

"I'll take _that_." I steal the blowtorch from Haymitch's hands and ignore his dramatic gasp at such an action. "You were having _way_ to much fun back there."

"It _was_ way too much fun." He says by way of explanation.

He looks ahead of us and nudges me. I'm busy trying to put the blowtorch back in the bag, so I don't look up for a few seconds. When I do, Haymitch is standing on the edge of a cliff, rather than beside me. I scurry forward, ready to pull him back in case he does anything so stupid as jump. Not that he would, but there's always a chance.

The ground we stand on is solid and cracked, baked hard by the sun. It's a stark contrast to the forest floor we've left behind. Down below, hundreds of feet beneath the cliff face, wait a thousand pointed, jagged rocks. It would _not_ be fun to fall down onto _those_.

Not that you could. It takes a moment for me to recognise that shimmer in the air, and another for me to match it up to the memory; the rooftop back at the Training Base in the Capitol. The air there shimmered just like this, protected by a force field so you couldn't jump. I threw a piece of dirt, and it decided to throw it back in my face. Literally.

Oh, I remember you, Mr. Force-field.

My God. I am literally losing my mind. Focus, Maysilee, focus.

I look at Haymitch, who may or may not be thinking along the same lines as I am. Whatever he _is _thinking, his face is lit up like a small child's might in a sweet shop. And, having grown up in a sweet shop, I think I know what that looks like.

"That's all there is, Haymitch." I say, hoping my tone will get the message across. Flower-pots. Force fields. Treason. "Let's go back."

"No, I'm staying here." He insists, his eyes still fixed giddily on the air in front of him.

Well. He can commit treason without me, then. I toss the backpack to the floor by his feet, kneeling to dig my blowgun out of it. "Alright. There's only five of us left. May as well say goodbye, anyway. I don't want it to come down to you and me."

"Okay." He agrees flatly.

I don't know what I was expecting. Not a hug, or a heartfelt proclamation of winning and victory, but certainly some sort of a 'goodbye'. Maybe 'okay' is the best way he can think of wording that? Or he just can't line his thoughts up? Haymitch Abernathy is a hard nut to crack.

Offering him a small smile, I stand up, blowgun in hand, and head back along the cliff to our opening in the hedge. I doubt he even notices the smile, even notices I've left. He probably thinks I was joking. Knowing him, he'll turn to talk to me in a moment and find nothing but a backpack.

I'd pay to see his expression.


	32. Smile, Smile, Smile

My fingers clutch the blowgun tighter as I emerge from the gap in the hedge. A strange sense of relief sweeps over me as I look up and see the canopy of leaves above me, as opposed to the endless blue sky that spread out on the cracked cliff-top. Somehow, this feels so much safer. Smiling to myself, I set off.

I've been walking for, I guess, around five minutes, when I notice it's eerily quiet. I freeze, looking around me suspiciously. Yet there's nothing, not even the merest suggestion that anybody's near me. Haymitch and his cautiousness must've rubbed off on me. Snap out of it, Maysilee! Focus.

Turning to leave, I start to head… _Woah_… Squirrel…

"Back off, buddy." I warn the creature. "I'm armed."

It cocks its fluffy golden head to one side, and opens its mouth to reveal a set of scarily sharp fangs. It hisses at me, like some sort of rabid cat. Standing my ground, I glare at the animal.

It stares back at me, teeth bared. It isn't another few (terrifying) moments until it, too, seems to notice the silence around us. It looks up; the one direction I didn't think to check. And immediately it scarpers into the bushes, clearly not liking what it sees.

I'm almost scared to follow its gaze, but I know it'll be far less torture in the long run. My mind is already pressing images of Pixie hanging upside-down from one of the trees with a knife between her teeth, ready to attack me.

Oh, false alarm. It's a bird. And a rather pretty bird at that. A bit too pink for my liking- in fact, it's almost neon- but still rather pretty. The creature hops down from its branch and stares at me.

My fear seems almost irrational. This bird is _beautiful_. Its wings seem to be framed in a pale, lace-like texture, whilst the rest of its plumage is that bright, bright pink. And its eyes; they're haunting. So crystal blue, against the pinkness of it all.

Yet, I decide, my fear _is_ rationalised for two reasons; 1. Two years of watching the Hunger Games on TV has taught me that no beautiful creature is ever _completely_ harmless and 2. This thing scared the _squirrel_. Anything that can scare the squirrel must be pretty formidable in a fight. Even if this bird, which is no bigger than the scrawny pigeons back home, doesn't look it.

"See that?" I tell it, nodding my head towards the bush into which the golden squirrel disappeared moments ago. "I'm terrifying. _Nothing_ can defeat me!" I feel my face crack into a grin, bright and happy and so confusingly misplaced. Why should I be smiling? I'm having a staring contest with a probably-deadly pink bird!

It opens its long, elegant beak and emits a shrill, piercing call that cuts through the air like a knife. Literally seconds later, the branches above my head shake, showering me in leaves. I look up, spotting several birds- identical to the one stood before me- lining the branches, watching me hungrily.

_There was one, and I ignored it… Before I realised I was in danger, there was at least a dozen of them._

Could these things hunt in packs, like the squirrels? Now _there's_ a disturbing thought!

My fingers raise the blowgun to my lips, and I'm about to blow into it when I feel a sharp pain in my leg, just above my ankle. For a second, I feel nothing there safe for a sudden prick. And, once that subsides, its replaced by a crippling pain that's far, far worse.

My eyes snap down to examine the damage, and I catch one of the birds on the forest floor a little way away, blood dripping from the tips of its long, yellow beak. It takes a moment for me to realise that it must be _my_ blood, that this gorgeous creature has speared my leg. And, by that point, it's too late to do much more than bite my lip to keep from crying. Because the others leap down from the trees, a cacophony of piercing cries alighting the air with such intensity that it makes my ears ring.

The blowgun stays clutched in my hand, forgotten almost, as I try to steady my breathing (which seems to have quickened without me realising) and numb the pain in my lower leg. I'm failing miserably at both of these tasks.

A second stabbing pain, like the prick of a sewing needle, is felt in my thigh- left leg, same as the last puncture. When I look down, the bird is already a few feet away, its skinny pink tongue darting out, licking the copper-red liquid from its beak.

My thigh, like my just-above-ankle before it, decides it _really_ should hurt a lot more than it does, and that crippling pain takes over. But, with two places burning with such a horrible fire in one leg, I can't support my weight anymore. I just about manage to stagger backwards, my back bumping into a tree's sturdy trunk, before I slide to the forest floor. And now I'm crying, and I don't _care_ who's watching, as the pack of pink demons (flock seems far too fluffy and cute a word) close in.

The blowgun falls from my fingers, my brain deciding that my hand would be better suited to attempting to stem the blood flow. I put my left hand on the floor, use it to steady myself, as I clutch the wound on my thigh with my right hand. Ignoring the birds around me and their horrible screams, I instead focus on the way the blood still manages to seep out through the tiny gaps between my fingers.

I don't need to live in the apothecary to know that that's bad. _Really _bad.

That sharp, pricking pain suddenly appears in my left arm. I turn to look and, unlike with the last two incidents, I actually _catch_ the bird wrench its beak from beneath my flesh, leaving a deep hole. Its only when its beak is fully removed that the crippling pain occurs, and my left arm buckles under the weight I'm putting on it.

I lift it up, raising my right hand and hurriedly clamping it over my left arm, frantically refusing to acknowledge the red liquid that stains its fingers already from the wound in my thigh.

It's hard to admit it, but I'm going to die. I just _know_ it. One leg, one arm, won't function, and these birds are clearly going in for the kill. This is what happens in the Hunger Games; they reach the final five, and then they pick you off, one by one. Squirrels, birds, what next? I just hope that someone decent wins. Not Pixie, _anyone_ but Pixie. Haymitch would be good…

Wait a minute…

We found the edge of the Arena. It can't be coincidence that these birds appeared so close to the gap in the hedge. Whilst it might just look like a pretty cliff to most people, to those in authority, this probably looks like treason; _no_-_one_ reaches the edge of the Arena. You just _aren't_ supposed to. They're probably going to draw this out and-

A fourth stab is made into my right leg, which is the one I'mcurrently sitting on. Blood begins to spread across the cloth of my dirtied leggings the moment the bird removes its bloody beak, accompanied by that horrible, unbearable pain…

I have to warn Haymitch! But how? Oh God, _how_?

I look up, my eyes locking on those of a bird a few feet away. It cocks its head to the side. This one's beak is strangely devoid of blood, which means it must be planning where it should strike. I feel my breathing quicken again as instinct takes over.

I scream. As loud and as long as I can. It startles most of the birds, _most_ being the key word. The majority of them take to the air, brushing me with their lacy wing feathers and making me feel incredibly claustrophobic despite being outside. I duck my head and squeeze my eyes shut.

When I open them, that bird from before- and I swear to God it's the same one- is still watching me curiously. It's the only one left.

Realising that this must be the one that goes in for the kill, unless the Gamemakers really are so cruel as to let me die of blood poisoning (though I wouldn't put it past them), I try to stand. The tree takes most of my weight, but even then I find myself falling back to the ground, this time landing on my hurting left leg. The pain is so unbearable that I seriously consider hacking my leg off with a saw. Surely, that would be much more bearable. Now, I just need a saw... Oh, who am I kidding? Where would I get a _saw_ from?!

I release my grip on my left arm as the bird takes a hop forward, planning to use my only available limb as well as I can.

This idea falls flat, as the bird does something completely unexpected. It lands on my right arm, which is hovering somewhere between my lap and my head, with the hand tightened in a fist. And I can't exactly _use_ that fist to punch the thing when it's using that part of arm between my wrist and elbow as a perch, can I?

It's face is so close to mine, I can make out all the individual fibres in each feather. It stares into my eyes for a moment and then, in one quick motion, stabs out towards my face. I close my eyes and turn my head away, which causes it to miss its mark.

And stab my neck.

The creature hurriedly flies away to join its friends. I raise my right hand to the terrible pain in my neck, trying to stem the blood flow, yet knowing from the past incidences that such a feat is truly impossible.

I squeeze my eyes shut and tilt my head back slowly, as even such a small movement as this causes great pain, until it rests on the tree trunk behind. I wonder what dying is like. I hope it's true, and that you do go to 'a better place'.

"Maysilee?"

My eyes snap open and my head jerks away from the tree trunk. I immediately hiss back a scream at the sudden pain, biting my lower lip, my eyes scanning the forest for him.

Haymitch approaches slowly, kneels down a little way away. His grey eyes flit from my left wrist, which is sitting limply in my lap, to my butchered left leg, my painful right. And then, up to my throat, which my right hand is failing to fix.

"I shouldn't have let you leave." He whispers.

"Not your fault." I struggle to get out. "Mine."

"I still could've stopped you."

"No." I try to protest, but my throat hurts so much- so, _so_ much. I throw my head back against the tree's trunk again.

"Hey," He reaches out slowly, his fingers finding my right hand. They loiter beside it for a second, as though he's wondering what to do, but soon, they're wrapping around the fingers and removing it from the wound. "Let me see."

"It's bad." I squeeze out.

"_Shh_!" He scolds, quickly giving me an expression that shows he clearly regrets snapping. "Sorry. Just… It'll probably hurt less if you stop talking."

"'kay." I practically whisper.

He stares at the bleeding wound on my neck for what feels like a century and, when he finishes, I know I officially have _no_ hope. For he gives my hand a gentle squeeze and locks his eyes with mine. And his are brimming with tears.

Haymitch Abernathy does _not_ cry. Not unless something is _seriously_ up.

I bite my lip to keep from sobbing- which will _certainly_ hurt my neck- and instead focus on my limp left hand. My gaze only heads back upwards when I catch him humming. And not humming just _anything_, either; he's humming the song from last night. The one Mum used to sing as she worked about the shop. His dad's favourite bar song, I think he said.

I close my eyes and let my head drop back, resting against the tree trunk once again. Haymitch stops humming for a second, before continuing. Maybe he's debating whether or not I'm already dead. Silly Haymitch; there'll be a cannon when that happens.

I conjure up images of home; Dad's funny dance he does whenever he scores a goal in football, Macy in her favourite dress, Anise's brilliant smile as she introduces us to some creature she 'found'. And it's all accompanied by the tune to such a bright, happy song, that you could forget you're in the Hunger Games, that you killed your babysitter. You can forget that innocent little Betony was bludgeoned to death, and that Jill gave her life so that we had a chance to get away quick enough from-

_Enough_. Stop it, Mays. Can't you see? You're hyperventilating again! You're going to scare Haymitch!

I open my eyes and, sure enough, Haymitch is studying my expression carefully. I attempt a smile, but the corners of my mouth don't seem like they want to co-operate. I'm suddenly aware of an itch on my shoulder. It takes a moment to realise that it's caused by the blood from my neck wound, which is apparently running down my neck, to my shoulder, and gluing my shirt to the skin.

My fingers are squeezed comfortingly by Haymitch once again, though he's stopped humming. I can hear the wind, and songbirds, and… _This_ is what it's supposed to sound like. Not silence, and _certainly_ not ear-piercing screeches.

Although the absence of that song is the most noticeable thing. Yet, for the life of me, I can't remember the name of it. I'd like to. Before I die, I'd like to know, but I don't want to ask Haymitch in case that's all the force my throat needs to collapse. It sound crazy, but it's how I feel right now,

_What's the use of worrying? It never was worth while, so..._

"Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag." I find myself muttering, finishing the chorus aloud, before the sensible part of my brain has chance to stop me. I immediately regret it. The action seems to crack the forming scab on my neck, increasing the searing pain in ways I couldn't even imagine before.

Already, I'm seeing little black splodges everywhere I look, slowly increasing in size. It doesn't take a genius to realise that, once they've completely absorbed my sight, I'm a goner.

"And smile, smile, smile." Haymitch finishes. I think his voice might crack towards the end, like someone about to cry, but I can't be sure because I can see no more than a smidge of the world right now.

I don't panic. Instead, I take a deep breath, and I follow the song's advice. I smile.

And that's the last conscious thing I do before everything's taken from me by the black spots, leaving me in a hauntingly dark silence.

* * *

**I think this chapter went pretty well, considering I can't base it on experience; I'm still very much alive, after all! Although I have to admit, the slight prick followed by searing pain was based slightly on having injections. Although, of course, the 'searing pain' part was toned up a _hell_ of a lot!**

**For anybody panicking about not seeing the rest of the 50th Hunger Games; you will. There's still the epilogue, remember? :)**

**Oh, and the song in this chapter, for anybody who didn't recognise it, is _Pack Up Your Troubles_. The chorus seemed somewhat fitting to Maysilee.**


	33. Epilogue

For some reason, I wake up with the distinct feeling that something is wrong. Looking myself over, I realise what.

I'm caked in blood.

Yes, that's probably it. That, and the fact that this dress I'm wearing is white. White shows blood rather well, don't you think? Well, something must be wrong here, because there isn't a stain.

Now, where the heck am I? A forest… Forests are illegal… Oh, wait, I _know_ this! Hunger Games… Pink birds… Smiles…

Oh, great. I'm dead, aren't I?

Hold on… Then why aren't I _dead_? This is literally making no sense to me whatsoever here. In past experience, dead people don't wake up randomly.

I look around and catch Haymitch. I'd be relieved, if he didn't look so terrified. His hand is gripping the handle of some kind of knife, and he's staring at me like I'm some sort of unpredictable wild animal. I raise my left arm to wave, smile to myself at how effortless the movement feels when I seem to distinctly remember it causing more pain than I've ever felt before.

"It's okay." I tell him. "I think… Do you mind explaining what's happening here, exactly?"

"You died." He retorts curtly.

"Oh, _thanks_." I say bitterly. "What a _great_ answer."

"But you did!" He splutters, clearly just as confused as I am on this matter. "I was _there_! There was a cannon and everything! And dead people don't just show up in a pretty dress and act like it never happened; they _die_, Maysilee!"

I tilt my head to one side as my brain processes this information. The scab on my neck doesn't seem to mind this movement in the slightest. "Well, _this_ is very confusing, isn't it?"

"It is." He agrees, taking a slow step towards me. "Hold on, I'm just going to…" He reaches out cautiously with one hand, the other still gripping the knife's handle. The outward reaching hand pokes my shoulder, only I don't feel a thing. "My finger is going _right_ through your arm."

"So it is." I agree. It takes a moment for me to realise that that shouldn't be happening. "Why is that?"

"Because you aren't there." Haymitch decides firmly. "I'm going to go. Don't follow me." And he walks off. Typical Haymitch.

"Well, what am I _supposed_ to do?!" I shout after his retreating form. "If there's some brilliant place dead people are supposed to go, I have yet to find it!"

He ignores me. I _know_ he heard me, and that he's just choosing to pretend he didn't.

_Well_. Seen as I'm clearly untouchable right now, I think I'll go mooch around the Arena for a while. Go see what I've missed.

* * *

I learn via a broadcast from the Gamemakers that there are three tributes left; Haymitch (yay!), Pixie (boo!) and some kid called George. Judging from the drawstring bag, sitting in the Cornucopia waiting for him, he's District 9.

Haymitch shows up to collect his 'gift' first. He pretends he can't see me sitting cross-legged, right next to the giant metal structure that gives this place its name. Though from the way he hurriedly averts his gaze every time it meets mine, I know he can still see me.

He quickly dashes away before either of the other two can catch him, bag in hand. I wonder what in contains. Food, probably. Food, water, maybe some sort of weapon? They'll be readying for the finale, surely.

The next arrival is some boy I don't recognise with mousy brown hair, which has grown a little unkempt over the last… However long it's been… I died on Day 10, so at least ten days now.

He doesn't seem to see me. Just to experiment, I stand and walk round to the metal table on which the remaining two bags sit. Resting my arms on the table, I grin brightly. He doesn't so much as bat an eyelid.

I'm akin to the idea that only Haymitch can see me when George dashes off. The boy from 9 has successfully managed to ignore my singing, dancing and shouting. To the point that I'm honestly doubting my own existence right now.

Pixie shows up last. A snide grin is plastered across her face, unwavering, as she stalks up to the table with that short-handled axe in her hand. Even though she can't touch me, I still feel that wave of fear every time her icy blue eyes wash over me. But she doesn't seem to see me.

Her hand is clasping the drawstring bag, and she's turning to head away from the table. And then, something happens to confuse me even more, if that's even possible.

"Maysilee!" A familiar, very dead, voice says. The table doesn't show the slightest sign of movement as Billy jumps onto it, sitting beside me and grinning. He's wearing white, too, although not a dress; though that _would_ look funny! No, he's instead wearing a pair of white trousers coupled with a white shirt he seems to have forgotten to button up all the way to the top.

"What's going on?" I ask him bluntly.

"We're dead." He says without batting an eyelid.

"I got that much."

"Only we can't do anything about it until the funeral." He continues. "Grandma always said that funerals are what send the soul to the other world, or whatever. Until after the Games, when they have the funerals…"

"We're stuck in limbo." I conclude. He nods grimly. "Well, how come only Haymitch can see me?"

"It must be an alliance thing; only Pixie seems able to see me." He shrugs casually.

We turn back to Pixie, who's standing a little way away with a slightly bewildered expression. "Billy…" She says in that maniacal tone she's adopted. "Who _are_ you talking to?"

"An old friend." The boy from 4 hops off the table. "That's all." He walks off, sending me a bright grin over his shoulder. I refrain from rolling my eyes, smiling back as happily as I can. Not very happily then, I feel.

* * *

Once Pixie's gone, I decide to go find George. He can't see me, so I won't be as disruptive as I would be to Haymitch, and he doesn't terrify the wits out of me like Pixie does.

I find him leaning down, licking his thumb and rubbing it across his hand. Over and over, like he's trying to remove some sort of stain which came out long ago.

"Get off." He keeps saying. "Get off, get off, get _off_!"

I want to ask what he's talking about, if he's okay, but I know any attempt to do so would be futile. All I can do is watch, intrigued but also afraid, as the scene unfolds.

_There was one, and I ignored it…_

A fluffy golden squirrel dashes down a nearby tree trunk and scampers across the forest floor. It stops beside George, staring up at him inquisitively, and chirps cheerfully.

He doesn't appear to notice at all, engrossed in the task of removing a stain that no longer exists anywhere safe for in his mind.

_Same when a second showed up, and a third._

Another two squirrels make their way down from the branches, joining their fellow bringer of death. Still, George doesn't look away from the task at hand. Literally.

These three are quickly joined by many more. They flood to the area from all directions, quiet as mice. It isn't until one lets out another small, soft chirping noise that George finally looks up, and there's something like horror in his expression.

_Before I realised I was in danger, there was at least a dozen of them._

He's much quicker than me at working these things out. He can't run, he can't fight. And he accepts his fate quicker than I did, too. He just stands, with his eyes closed, and waits for the squirrels to rip the flesh from his bones. And that they do.

I can't watch. So I run. I'm good at that.

* * *

The 'epic finale' comes down to Haymitch and Pixie. Of course, I'm rooting for the former, not just because he's from my District, but because he's a nice guy. He has a little brother, and parents, and a girlfriend to go home to. Besides, if he can't go home to tell Macy I love her, who else will? Wilhelm certainly won't.

I follow the action as quietly as I can, which is actually a lot easier than it used to be. My footsteps are literally silent. Still, Haymitch seems to notice me early on, and I make sure to keep back after that. I can't distract him and have Pixie seize the chances that would arise; I'd never forgive myself. Mind you, if this is the finale, my funeral won't be too far away; never isn't a very long time for me anymore.

It's an even match. Pixie relies mostly on being crazy. There's no emotion in her face as she swings that axe, inflicting injury upon injury on the poor guy. Safe for insanity and, hey, maybe a _bit_ of loneliness. Not that I feel sorry for her, or anything. She killed Betony, and injured Jill's leg, which triggered _her_ death. I feel no sympathy for the monster at all.

It's awful. Utterly awful. I wasn't ever sure Haymitch could inflict such damage, but it's easy to see the tribute who took down both Veronica and Clair. He takes Pixie's right eye out, or there abouts. It's left hanging from the socket by some sort of pink, jelly-like string. If I wasn't dead, I think I'd vomit at the sight of it, I truly do.

And the _blood_. I never knew there was so much blood in someone's eye socket.

Haymitch is heading towards his cliff. Of course, _I_ know that, having helped him get there in the first place. But Pixie doesn't.

He might get there, too. At least, I _think_ he might, until Haymitch is disarmed by Pixie and her axe. He can't get his knife, which has been sent spiralling into a tree trunk, as that would stick him in a tricky situation which the Career would surely take advantage of.

As it is, she takes advantage of his momentary shock, and, to make it worse, the way she does it is so reminiscent of what she did to Jon on Day 1. She flicks her wrist casually, her eyes dancing with glee, and slits Haymitch's stomach open. Literally.

He runs, holding his insides in for as long as he can. He just reaches the cliff, and that five-year-old-like smile appears on his face as he turns to face her.

Pixie throws the axe, just as Haymitch collapses to the floor. It flies off the edge of the cliff and, for all she knows, is lost forever. She raises her other hand and tries to squish her eye back into its socket, failing miserably. It must hurt so, _so_ much. Not that I feel sorry for her.

Haymitch is lying there, convulsing on the floor. Dying, and with no-one to hold his hand, or hum songs to him.

"Stay with us, Haymitch." I whisper, crossing my fingers for luck. "Please." His eyes lock on mine, just for a moment.

Though that moment is long enough for me to miss it.

The axe hits Mr. Force Field and flies back up, hitting Pixie in the head and killing her instantly. The hovercraft carries her away, and then there's trumpets and music to signal that Haymitch has won.

They have to _carry_ him onto the hovercraft.

* * *

I'm sitting in the corner of his hospital room. They've patched him up, fixed his stomach without even so much as a scar to show for it. And he's currently lying exhausted in the hospital bed, ignoring me.

Wilhelm stalks in, pulling a chair into place at his bedside and sitting in it.

"You have your interview later." He states.

"Wilhelm, _please_," Haymitch manages to sit up groggily. "I don't _feel_ like it."

"That doesn't matter, Curly." Our mentor insists. "What you feel like doing just doesn't _matter_ to anybody anymore."

"What does that mean?" Haymitch asks, and I have to admit, I agree with him.

"Nothing, nothing." He helps Haymitch out of bed and sets to work fixing his hair 'just right'; something I never thought I'd see Wilhelm do. "Now, listen to me, this is important; you can't let anybody know you can see her."

"See who?"

"Blondie."

I feel my heart stop momentarily. Or, rather, what I think would've been my heart if I was still alive. I stare at Haymitch, anxious to hear his response to this.

"What makes you think I can?" He asks eventually.

"It's written all over you, Curly," Wilhelm tugs on a lock of his hair and seems to relish in the boy's resulting wince. "I was just the same, and I didn't have someone who'd been there and done that to warn me of the demons."

"Tell him I'll be going after the funeral." I tell Haymitch, walking over and feeling pretty bitter. I forgot how annoying Wilhelm can be. "Billy said so."

He looks a little unsure, but complies. "She's leaving after the funeral, she says."

"Does she now?" Wilhelm laughs, though I don't see how that's funny. "Anika told me a similar story. And you know what, Curly? She _never_ left."

"Don't I get a say in this?" I snap, aware that he can't hear me but knowing I must voice my thoughts nonetheless. "I don't _particularly_ want to haunt Haymitch forevermore. I'd much rather be in the afterlife, eating cake and dancing round fields of flowers. So _there_." For good measure, I stick my tongue out at him too. Childish, I know, but definitely worth it.

Haymitch blanks me. "How do you cope?"

"Cope?" Wilhelm laughs again. "I don't _cope_! What do you think the straps on my bed are for, Curly?"

"I assumed it was so you couldn't kill yourself, or attack Delicia, or something." Haymitch admits.

"Kill Delicia?" Wilhelm echoes. "Man, you've got Arena on the brain! Why would I want to do that?"

"She's annoying."

"True. But I wouldn't want to _kill_ her for it." His face takes on a serious expression. "Listen; I know because I'm on your boat with you, and the other victors will most likely pick it up. But you _can't_ tell anyone else. Not here, not in District 12, nowhere."

"What about my sister?" I ask. I want to see Macy again, want to tell her that I love her, and that it's okay, and that she has to live a super amazing life now to make up for everything I've missed.

Haymitch voices my question, and I think Wilhelm's answer tears that would-be-a-heart-if-I-was-alive place in two. "_No_-one."

He leaves the room and Haymitch waits until the door's swung shut behind him before turning to face me.

"Is this making any sense to you at all?" He asks.

I smirk and shake my head. "None at all." I fold my arms. "But you, Mr. Abernathy, have an interview to prepare for."

"Don't remind me." He groans.

You could pretend we'd never been in the Games; we're joking and laughing like before them. If we weren't in a pristine hospital room the likes of which no-one sees in 12, if Haymitch wasn't wearing one of their iconic gowns, if Wilhelm's words didn't hang over the room like a heavy fog.

And if you could see me. Because anyone watching wouldn't be able to. All they'd see would be the latest victor of the Hunger Games talking to thin air, laughing at a voice only he can hear. And they'd call him crazy. Maybe he is.

* * *

**Might seem a little weak after last chapter, but I've been planning an ending like this since the beginning.**

**And now, it's officially over. I'll put up the first chapter of the sequel next Saturday (UK time, as usual), so keep an eye out for it. **

**For everyone who celebrates it, merry Christmas! And for those who don't, happy end-of-winter-start-of-spring! :)**


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